


Feels Like Coming Home

by phdmama



Series: Feels Like Coming Home [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Anger, Blow Jobs, Communication, Exes to Lovers, Forgiveness, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Jay is in this one, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death (before the story takes place), Past Violence, Processing, Sadness, Trauma, ahhhhngst, alcohol abuse & recovery, bareback, casual alcohol use, falling back in love, good use of coping tools, mental health, non-linear, side Ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-02 22:02:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 60,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10228448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phdmama/pseuds/phdmama
Summary: The last thing Harry Styles expects when he's hanging out at the Someday Cafe in Somerville one rainy October day is for his ex, Louis Tomlinson to walk through the door, but that's exactly what happens. After a spectacularly ugly break-up three years prior, Harry hasn't heard one word from Louis, and he's moved on. Gotten over him. But having Louis back in his life, not to mention working at the restaurant where he's a chef, isn't easy, and the feelings that Harry thought he'd left turn out to be not so easily forgotten.This is a story about love and the power of forgiveness, and how the hard choices we make define us, and change our lives.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been a while in the making, but really took off a couple of months ago, and has consumed me. I only hope I've done it justice. 
> 
> There are so many people I have to thank. My writing group chat has been so supportive, screaming with me (and occasionally at me) as I churned this thing out, and it made all the difference. I have to thank a few people in particular: my darling [littlebabyruth](http://littlebabyruth.tumblr.com/) for her ongoing support and enthusiasm, not to mention her psych-picking; my wonderful [annie-pie](http://annie-pie.tumblr.com/) for her med picking and support and encouragement; the always-lovely [nottooldforthisship](http://nottooldforthisship.tumblr.com/) for her enthusiasm and the amazing edit she made; and my sweetie [realitybetterthanfiction](http://realitybetterthanfiction.tumblr.com/) for her beta work and support. This also brought me a new friend, daysundercover and I am so thankful to have gotten to know her better, not to mention I’m so grateful for her impromptu beta work!!
> 
> I do not own any of these characters, and ask that you do not reprint this work anywhere (though feel free to [reblog the Tumblr post](http://phd-mama.tumblr.com/post/158512032259/feels-like-coming-home) over there!). Please respect the fourth wall; this is a work of fiction and should stay very very far away from anyone connected to any of the people mentions.
> 
> As always, the words are mine, as are the errors.

 

I think I'll go to Boston  
I think that I'm just tired  
I think I need a new town, to leave this all behind  
I think I need a sunrise, I'm tired of the sunset  
_I hear it's nice in the summer, some snow would be nice  
_ Boston, where no one knows my name

_—Augustana_

 

**AUGUST 2014**

Harry steps out onto the tarmac at Logan, the humidity of the late August afternoon immediately wilting his curls and drawing the sweat from his skin after the cool of the airplane. Exhausted, he shoulders his carry-on, and joins the queue of weary passengers shuffling into the airport, heading to baggage claim. As he crosses out of the secured area, he stops and stares, and suddenly, his eyes are overflowing as he is pulled into a tight hug that knocks the breath out of him as he struggles not to break down entirely.

“Couldn’t let you just get off the plane without a friendly face to greet ya,” Niall whispers gruffly into his ear, and even without looking, Harry knows his friend’s blue eyes are as full as his own.

“What am I going to do now, Niall?” He can’t even offer a hello, too bone-tired to do anything but lean into the warmth of Niall’s strong embrace. “What the fuck am I going to do now?”

Niall pulls back a bit, his face uncharacteristically solemn.

“You’re going to come to mine for tonight, get some rest, and I’ll take you home tomorrow. We’ll figure out as it comes, babe.” He starts steering Harry towards the escalators. “Just...just come with me, Harry. It’ll be okay.”

But as they head towards the carousel to pick up the sum total of his life’s belongings, Harry can’t find it in him to believe. How can it be okay? Everything is different now. He’s lost Louis. The love story that was supposed to last a lifetime, _his_ lifetime, has ended.

It’s over.

**OCTOBER 2017**

Harry drains the last of his vanilla latte, savoring the sweetness as he sets the cup down. He is tucked away in his favorite armchair in the corner of the Someday Cafe, one of his favorite places to curl up and read on a rainy autumn day like today. The lights inside are bright in contrast to the dull grey outside, and the last thing he wants to do is move out of the steamy warmth, but unfortunately, his empty pantry at home is calling to him. He glances at his watch as he closes his book, noting that he has enough time to run over to Star Market before he has to get into the restaurant for work that night. He stuffs his book into his messenger bag, and as he twists around to pull on his coat, he looks up and freezes. Standing about 10 feet away, staring at him like he’s seen a ghost, is —

“Louis?” Harry’s voice is hushed, shocked.

Louis, for it definitely is him, nods and moves closer. “Harry. Niall told me you’d be here.”

“What?” Harry feels confused, like all of a sudden the world isn’t making any sense, like maybe gravity has been reversed and the only thing tethering him to the earth anymore is his pounding heart. “You talk to...Niall told you I was here?”

He can hear his voice forming words, but has trouble making sense of them. Louis. _Louis_ is here, standing right in front of him, after 3 years of total radio silence.

After he’d arrived in Boston, Harry had tried. He’d called, left messages, sent texts, written goddamn letters, and not one word of reply had he ever received. He’d cut himself off from most of their shared friends in California, needing to make a break to start over on the East Coast, and he’d had no idea that Louis and Niall had stayed in touch.

Louis runs a shaky hand through his hair, and Harry can see now the anxiety on his face, the way his eyes search Harry’s looking for...something. Harry can’t begin to guess what.

“Yeah, we’ve been...we’ve been talking for a little while, I asked him not to tell you.”

Harry files that away to address with his dearest friend later, and keeps a wary gaze on Louis' face as he moves even closer, standing next to the table now, close enough for Harry to see the faint lines around his eyes, to notice that his hair is longer now, his skin paler than when they were spending every weekend out in the California sun, but his eyes, his eyes are the same, blue like the Caribbean as seen from the depths, the sunlight shining down through the water. His eyes are the same, and Harry feels something in his chest break just a little, and shakes his head.

When he speaks, however, he’s shocked to hear how calm his voice is, none of the turmoil he is feeling evident as he asks evenly, “What are you doing here, Louis?”

“Here as in Massachusetts? Um, well, I live here now. I moved back about a couple of months ago, to start, um, grad school. I’m, um, I’m living here in Somerville now, not too far from you and Niall actually.”

“No.” Harry’s voice is flat. “What are you doing _here_?”

“I was...I was hoping to see you, Harry. I thought maybe it would be easier than just, I don’t know, calling you. I don’t know if your cell is still the same, or if you’d even want to see me, but, fuck, Harry, I have so much to say to you. I’ve missed you so much, you have no idea, and I was hoping we could…” his voice trails off at the look on Harry’s face, “I was hoping we could talk. Reconnect.”

Harry’s vision flares white with rage. “Reconnect? Reconnect _what,_ Louis?” He is vaguely aware that he’s shot to standing, that his voice is getting louder, that the cafe around them is going silent, watching this moment unfold before them.

“You’re right.” Louis sighs. “I know I owe you an apology, Harry, but I,” and Harry holds up one hand.

“An apology. You think you owe me an apology?” The bitter sound of his own laugh rings in his ears. “For what, exactly? For pushing me away for a year? And then for breaking my heart? For not speaking to me for 3 years even though we were best friends? Beyond anything else, you were my _best friend_ and you fucking _cut my heart out._ ”

Harry turns away, shaking, and pulls on his coat, slinging his bag over his shoulder, and starts for the door. Then he pauses, and turns back around to face Louis, standing white-faced by the table.

“And now you want to reconnect? What story do you think this is, Louis? What the fuck do you think I’ve been doing for the last three years? Do you think I’ve been, what, just fucking _waiting_ for you?”

Louis just shakes his head, eyes dropping to the floor. “No, Harry, you’re right.”

Harry interrupts him again, a vicious thrill running through him at the look on Louis' face. “Do you know how long I cried for you after I got here? I cried every night for _eight fucking months_. I stopped crying when I realized you weren’t going to call me back, you weren’t going to write me, you weren’t _ever_ going to respond. So you know what I did? I got over you. I haven’t been waiting for you like some...some princess under a fucking spell. I haven’t been waiting at all. I moved on, Louis, because I finally understood. You left me long before I left you.”

Louis' head jerks up. “Fuck you, Harry, my father died. I was grieving, you can’t put it all on me.”

With that, Harry’s rage drains out of him, leaving him trembling and exhausted. “I know that, Louis, but that was the entire year before I left. A year of you pushing me away, drowning your sorrows in too much whiskey, too much weed. And you wouldn’t…” Here his voice breaks, remembering his terror at knowing he was losing his best friend, “You wouldn’t even try. And it broke you. It broke us. I couldn’t let it break me too.”

“Harry.” Louis pauses, as if not sure what to say next.

“So no, Louis. We can’t reconnect, because there’s nothing left to connect to. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some things to do before I go to work.”

Harry walks through the silent room, feeling the weight of the eyes of strangers on him as he pushes through the steam-covered door and out onto the sidewalk and the rain.

He doesn’t look back.

By the time Harry gets to work, heading into the restaurant through the back door to the staff room, he’s fuming. The nerve, he keeps thinking, the fucking _nerve_ of Louis Tomlinson, showing up looking a bit like a nervous puppy and asking to reconnect. Harry runs a hand through his hair, then ducks into the bathroom to tie on his chef’s hat, he’s going with purple today. Clear out the bad energy. As he steps back out into the staff room, he sees Niall coming through the door that leads to the back kitchen. When Niall spots him, he starts visibly, and then, clearly steeling himself, moves closer to Harry.

“Harry.”

Harry holds up one hand. “Don’t. Just...don’t, okay? I can’t. I can’t talk about it to you, because all I can think right now is that you’ve been lying to me for...I don’t even know how long. Weeks? Months?”

Niall’s wide eyes bore into Harry’s as his brow furrows and he opens his mouth as if to speak, then just nods.

Harry softens. “Niall, I love you, you’re my best friend. We’ll be okay. We’re going to have to talk about this, but just...not right now. I need a little time.”

Niall sighs. “The thing is, Harry. Fuck, I’m so sorry, I just fucked this up entirely, didn’t I? I’ll give you all the time you need, of course, but. Louis is here.”

Harry stares at him, dumbfounded. “What? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“He was asking me about work, while he’s in school, and with Cammie gone, we’re down a bartender. He’s got experience.” Niall is the restaurant general manager, who also fills in the cracks, doing whatever happens to be needed at the time.

Harry closes his eyes for a moment, overwhelmed. It’s not enough that today he’s been confronted with the lost love of his life, no matter what he told Louis about having gotten over him, and he has, Harry assures himself, he _has_ , it was just a lot, now he has to cope with what feels like the sting of betrayal, even though he knows that this is just another byproduct of Niall’s endless capacity to love and forgive.

“So, what you’re telling me is that Louis is going to be working here.”

Niall nods unhappily. “I’m so sorry, Harry.” Thankfully he stops there, having known Harry long enough to know that Harry has a very long fuse, but once it burns out, there’s no way to stave off the ensuing explosion.

Harry opens his locker to grab his work uniform, and then inhales deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. While it’s true that his grill area is open to one of the seating areas of the restaurant, the main bar is in a different room, out of his line-of-sight, so he doesn’t tend to interact with the bartenders much. The kitchen closes at 11 but the bar stays open until 1, so he can just avoid hanging out on nights when Louis is working, he thinks. Maybe this can work.

“Fine.” He’s fine. Harry is just _fine_ with this. Goddamn it, if he’s gotten over Louis, left the hurt and betrayal behind, then he can do this. He pulls on his uniform pants, and heads into the kitchen to go over the evening’s specials during the handover meeting with the other cooking staff and Ben. It’s time to go to work.

After the hand-off meeting, he heads out to his grill area, which is off the main entrance and is to the side of the area with the countertop seating and booths. Heading deeper into the restaurant through a large archway, to the left there’s another seating area with about 15 tables, and to the right, there’s a large bar area with tables and booths. It’s a popular grill, known for it’s “gourmet” hamburgers (Harry’s not sure why adding avocado to a burger makes it gourmet, but whatever, he’s employed in his field, that’s enough for him). He’d been lost when he first moved to Boston, having to rewrite his entire sense of self and create a vision of a future without Louis.

After a year of temping, moping and generally missing his old life, he’d decided he needed to take an entirely different path. Oddly enough, a degree in philosophy from UC Berkeley hadn’t left him particularly marketable in the corporate world, so he’d decided to pursue his second love, and gone to the Cambridge School of Culinary Arts, almost entirely because it was within walking distance of the apartment he and Niall had moved into in Somerville, just outside of Porter Square.

He checks the stock quickly, pleased to see that Allen, the day cook, had fully restocked before clocking out, and calls a thanks to him as he head out.

He’ll be on alone for the first hour, and then his second cook, Mikey, will come in at 5, and they’ll handle the dinner rush. Since it’s a Tuesday, he doesn’t expect it to be crowded, which unfortunately gives him more time to brood. Of course, the first thing that happens as he takes his station is Ben, Niall’s assistant, brings the new guy around to introduce him to all the staff.

“Harry, this is Louis, Niall’s buddy. He’s going to be bartending with us, Friday through Tuesday, mostly nights, except for Sunday brunch.” Harry sighs, because _of course_ , this is his schedule too.

“Louis and I know each other, Ben,” he says patiently, and then, steeling himself, he looks at Louis and nods. “Hey.”

Louis nods back and says simply, “Hey, Harry.” He looks a bit relieved at Harry’s greeting, and Harry remembers that he always did have a flair for the dramatic. What did he think Harry was going to do? Then Harry thinks about the scene a few hours ago, and shrugs internally.

He tunes in as Ben explains how the restaurant works. “So, we’ve got our open air grill here, where the main meal prep happens. We have the head chef on out here, and for nights and the lunch rush, we have a second chef out here as well. Behind Harry is the prep kitchen, and we’ve got one guy back there, two during the rush, plus the dishwasher. The chefs do all their own food prep and plating. During rush, we have a waitress on in the bar, but you’ll be doing food ordering when you’re the only bartender on or when it’s not as busy, and the busser runs your food for you. But since you were at the Hamburger Mary’s in San Francisco, you’ll have no trouble, our systems are all the same.”

Louis nods, and says, “Yeah, I didn't realize one had opened here in Cambridge, I was pretty excited when Nialler told me about it, that you were looking.”

Ben nods, “Yeah, we’ve been open for a couple of years, got Harry fresh out of culinary school,” and at that, Louis looks curiously at Harry for a moment, but Harry ignores him, focusing on getting his setup exactly right. “Anyway, your references were great, and since Cammie left for grad school, we’re thrilled to get an experienced bartender so quickly.”

Ben ushers Louis out of Harry’s section and back into the bar area. Louis glances once over his shoulder at Harry, and then turns and follows Ben out of Harry’s line-of-sight. Harry releases the breath he’s been holding and turns back to his kitchen.

It’s not his best night, for sure. He manages to catch two major screwups before they go out, but he’s got a couple of unhappy servers, and Jesy finally says, “Harry, what the fuck is going on? You’ve never had such an off night!”

Harry sighs. “It’s a long story.”

Jesy grins, “I’m off early tonight, I’ll hang out and let's grab a beer when you’re done? Besides I want to get to know the new bartender, he’s really hot. What’s his name again? Lucas?”

“Louis,” Harry says, his throat catching and he coughs to clear it, “His name is Louis.”

Jesy chatters on, oblivious, “He’s gorgeous, though I kinda get a not-straight vibe from him, you know what I mean? Anyway, apparently he’s a college buddy of Niall’s. Wait a minute, you and Niall grew up together too, did you know him too? Tell me everything!”

_As the shuttle from the airport approaches the UC Berkeley campus, or Cal, as everyone out here seems to call it, Harry can feel his heart pounding in his throat._

_“I can’t believe we’re here!”_

_He smiles a bit nervously at his best friend and partner in crime, who grins back, showing off his newly straightened teeth._

_“Good thing Dr. Oglive finally took the braces off, Niall.”_

_Niall laughs, “Yeah, they wouldn’t really suit me now that I’m…” he pauses dramatically, “A COLLEGE MAN.”_

_Harry cracks up. He pulls out their housing assignment once more and Niall laughs again. “Harry, you’ve been studying that for the entire flight. I’m sure you’ve got the campus map memorized. We’ve already connected with almost everyone in our suite on Facebook. It’s going to be fine.”_

_“I know.” Harry sighs deeply. “I just...it feels like it’s the beginning of the rest of our lives, Ni.” He cranes his neck to look at the window of the shuttle, marveling at the blue sky and palm trees. Palm trees! He’s really going to college in California._

_Niall drapes his arm around Harry and plants an affectionate kiss on his cheek. “S’gonna be awesome.”_

_The next hour is spent in wrestling their luggage down to their Unit 1 suite and getting their keys, IDs and the various other things they’ll need to start life on campus. They’re finally in the freight elevator, heading up to their 8th floor suite that they’ll be sharing with 4 other boys. They get to the door, and Harry’s heart hammers in anticipation._

_He carefully sticks his key in the lock and opens the door, turning to drag his trunk into what he knows will be the common room. There’s a couple of boys hanging out on ratty couch, who stand up to welcome them in._

_One of the kids, a good looking, dark-haired boy built like a linebacker smiles. “Hey, I’m Jake, from Santa Barbara.” He indicates the smaller boy standing next to him, and Harry feels his heart stutter, because this boy is beautiful, sharp and fey like some otherworldly creature, with eyes that Harry is pretty sure could be described as azure, caramel-colored hair cut in a soft style that flops over his forehead, and cheekbones that make Harry want to drop to his knees and praise god._

_“This is Louis.”_

“Yeah, I knew him.” Harry’s voice is flat as he answers. “We were...all part of the same friendship group.”

Jesy nods as he hands over the plates she’s waiting for. “Okay, so I’ll wait for you after work!” and disappears before Harry can protest. He groans, because the last thing he wants to do tonight is sit at the bar where Louis is, but he can’t see any way out of it.

At 11:00, Harry rings the bell for last call for grill orders, and waits for the servers to check in. It’s been a slow night, thank god, his focus has been awful. He hasn’t actually had an order for 30 minutes or so, so he’s already got about half of his closing done and the restocking finished. The servers give the all clear, and he turns off the grill, wiping his forehead with his arm as he does so. He and Mikey get things shut down and head back to the staff room to get changed.

“You headed home, brother?” Mikey asks as he pulls on his jeans. “You look wiped, man.”

Harry shakes his head as he swabs his sweaty face with a makeup wipe from the pack he leaves in the cooler, a trick Ben had taught him when he started. “Nah, Jesy wants to grab a drink, so I guess I’m hanging for a bit. I’ll leave your tips in the register?”

Mikey nods his thanks. “Yeah, I got an early class tomorrow, so I’m gonna motor, get some sleep for once!”

Harry waves a goodbye, and wiggles into his skinny jeans, and ties his battered high tops back on his feet. He hasn’t fully cooled off yet, so he pulls on a t-shirt, not realizing until he glances down that it’s from a show he’d seen with Louis, who’d managed to get them great tickets for their anniversary, Harry can’t even remember which year. Resolutely not changing his shirt nor checking his reflection in the mirror, he collects his things and heads out to the bar area.

He pauses at the edge of the bar to gather himself, then looks up. Louis is down at the other end of the bar with Perrie, laughing at something she’s saying. His laugh hasn’t changed a bit, and it hits Harry deep in the gut, and suddenly it’s as if the wound is brand-new as he remembers.

_Harry is crossing the quad when he hears it, the shout of laughter that can’t help but pull a smile from him, no matter how stressed, or homesick, he is. He can’t believe that he’s only known Louis ten days, ten of the most incredible days of his life. He’s pretty sure he’s laughed more in the last ten days than in the last ten years._

_Louis is tossing a frisbee with Jake, and if it weren’t clear that Jake is the most heterosexual guy out there, Harry might be jealous, but he’s definitely not; he’s not at all jealous of the fact that Jake and Louis have a history and in-jokes, and an actual friendship. No, it’s not that Harry is jealous, but he is envious, because it’s already quite obvious to him, that Louis is the moon and he is the tide, helpless to do anything but ebb and flow to Louis' pull._

_Louis sees him and waves. “Harry! Hey!”_

_Harry smiles and sighs inside. Louis is so bright in the late summer sun. He glows as he leaps to catch the frisbee Jake has tossed and every time Harry sees him, he loses a little bit more of himself to this golden, sunshine boy._

Harry walks over to where Jesy is sitting, sure that everything he’s feeling is written on his face. Louis pauses as Harry approaches, but Harry ignores him, eyes fixed on Jesy. “I can’t stay tonight, Jes. I have to go home.”

He turns and almost runs from the room, not waiting to hear what she says. He’s already halfway up the block to Porter Square when he hears feet pounding after him and Jesy calling his name.

“Harry. _Harry, wait!_ ”

He stops and turns as she runs up to him, shivering in the cool October night.

She’s staring at him as she approaches and he knows, he’s got to tell her. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Jesy, I just can’t be in there with him tonight.”

And with that, the look on her face changes from irritation to concern, and then to understanding. She says flatly, “He’s the ex, isn’t he.”

Harry just slumps and nods.

“He’s the guy, the one that broke your heart. Niall told me a bit about it, told me how much it hurt you, how brave you were when you moved here.”

To his horror, Harry’s eyes fill at that, and he sniffs desperately and takes a deep breath, trying to maintain control. A couple, walking past them chattering loudly, glance at them curiously, and Harry knows that they’re wondering what is happening.

Jesy wraps her arms around him, and Harry sinks into her comforting embrace. As she holds him, she mutters, “Fucking Niall, I don’t know what the _hell_ he was thinking, hiring your ex for this job. And Louis, he seemed nice, but…”

At that, Harry pushes back. “Jes, it’s not Niall’s fault, or Louis', okay? Yeah, we had a bad breakup, but it’s been years. I just, it’s been a tough day, I wasn’t expecting all this, but it’s fine.”

Harry can hear in his voice how not fine it is, and knows Jesy hears it too, but when she takes a breath to speak, he cuts her off.

“No, I’m serious. I don’t know this Louis at all, it’s been three years. We’re just going to be working together, that’s all. I can do this. You can give him a chance, it’s fine. And as for Niall?”

Another bolt of pain stabs into him as he feels the sting of the betrayal again. “I need to talk this out with him, but we’ll be okay. That’s the thing about Niall, right? He’s got the best heart of anyone I know, he’s so good at forgiving.”

“Well,” Jesy says acerbically, “In this case, I hope he forgives me when I tell him he’s a fucking idiot.”

Harry snorts at that, presses a kiss to Jesy’s forehead and says, “Anyway, I’m sorry I bolted out of there, it’s just, his laugh is the same and all of a sudden…” His voice trails off and he looks at Jesy for a moment, “It just hurt so fucking much again. We had something really amazing, Jes, and we lost it. And honestly, I’ve never felt the same about anyone else. I’m not sure I can.”

Jesy holds him close again and finally murmurs, “Just...go home, Harry. Go get some sleep. It’ll be brighter tomorrow, it always is.”

He’s just on the other side of the parking lot from the Star Market when it hits him, and he is stopped dead in his tracks, momentarily breathless. He stands frozen, arms wrapped around his shaking body, heedless of the cold.

_“Do you want dinner?” Harry is sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the tv, not knowing what station it’s tuned to. He hears the tentative tone to his voice and wonders when that became his default when talking to Louis. He hears the clink of the ice cubes in a glass, the click of the cabinet door as Louis sets the bottle of whatever he’s just poured himself back on the shelf, before he walks towards the living room, pausing in the doorway._

_Louis takes a deep drink before saying, “Nah, I got burritos with Oli after work.”_

_“Yeah,” Harry says, not looking away from the tv, “I was expecting you a couple of hours ago.”_

_“Sorry about that,” Louis says carelessly as he moves into the room, plops down next to Harry on the couch, careful not to spill his drink. “Forgot to charge my phone.”_

_Harry swallows down the biting comment he’s longing to make, swallows down the lick of fear at the way they’re speaking to each other. He has no idea what to do, how to make this better. They end up watching the end of the movie in silence, and Louis has another drink._

_He stays up after Harry goes to bed, doing god only knows what, and Harry lies awake, unshed tears burning his eyes. He hears Louis stumbling around in the living room, hears him throwing up in the bathroom, and rolls onto his side, anger warring with despair and terror in his stomach. At least he made it to the bathroom this time, Harry thinks. He’s not in the mood to be changing sheets and doing laundry at two in the morning on a work night._

_He finally falls asleep around three, still alone in the bed. He wakes up to find Louis next to him, dead to the world. As Harry’s alarm suddenly blares into the quiet of the dark morning, Louis moans._

_“Turn that fucking thing off, my head is killing me.”_

*****

Harry is sitting in the living room the next day, staring at nothing when Niall’s bedroom door opens and he stumbles out. Harry isn’t working today, and doesn’t have to be at the lab until 1:00. He is dreading the conversation that he knows he needs to have with Niall. He isn’t sure if he’s more hurt or angry, he only knows that he’s a hell of a lot of both.

“Hey.” Niall’s voice is tentative as he pauses in the doorway. “Do you...do you want to talk?”

“No,” Harry says after a pause, “But we need to.”

Niall nods. “Lemme pee and get some coffee, okay?”

He takes care of his personal business, and Harry can hear him rummaging in the kitchen. He comes out with a mug of coffee and a plate of muffins. Harry may be absolutely furious, but he’d never be so heartless as to deny Niall fresh muffins. He’s not a monster. Just really hurt and upset.

Niall settles down onto the couch next to Harry, who automatically pulls the big, fluffy blanket over them both.

“I just…” Harry tries to find the words. “I don’t even understand how this happened, Ni.”

Niall sighs, takes a deep drink of his coffee. “Over the summer,” he says finally, “Louis got in touch with me. He texted. He asked if we could talk.”

Harry feels the anger surge within him and takes a deep breath. This is his best friend, he reminds himself, the man who’s loved him since he was two years old. They’ve been friends since long before Harry even had an understanding what true friendship means. Niall taught him how to tie his shoes and smoke a joint. Niall was the first person Harry came out to, and when Harry’s world imploded, he took Harry in, no questions asked. Harry owes his best friend an open mind, no matter how hard it is, how much it hurts.

“And you said yes?” He works to keep his voice steady, hold the accusations to a minimum.

“No,” Niall says, “I said no at first. And then I thought about it. I don’t know what went down with you guys, you’ve never wanted to talk too much about it. But Louis was my friend too, and I wanted to hear what he had to say.”

Harry struggles to contain the hurt that eats at him like acid in his gut. “Did you even think about what that might be like for me?”

Niall stares at him. “Of course I fucking did, Harry, but you seemed like you were in a good place. You hadn’t talked about him in ages, it’d been _years,_ Harry, and you had announced that you were over him. So forgive me for not reading your mind to know that that wasn’t actually the case.”

“I just.” Harry sighs. “Okay, fair point. But why didn’t you tell me? I can’t believe you’ve been in touch for months and you never told me.”

Niall sighs, running a hand through his tousled brown hair, blue eyes sad. “He asked me not to. He had his reasons, and I’m not sure that I can share them with you. I was really torn, Harry, I hope you can understand. I’m sorry, I know I should have told you sooner, not let you find out the way you did. But I honest-to-god thought you were over him.”

Harry stares back at him, worrying his bottom lower lip between his teeth. “I was. I _am._ It was just. You know, I wasn’t expecting him to appear at the Someday like that.” He sighs, rests his head on his blanketed knees. “It hurt. A lot.”

Niall places his hand in the middle of Harry’s back and just holds it there, still, heavy and comforting in a way that Harry can’t explain. “I’m so sorry, Harry. I fucked up. I made the wrong call.”

Harry turns his head to look at him and his anger softens at the sight of Niall’s worried face. “I’m still pissed,” he says firmly, “But...I get it. I do.”

Niall’s face eases and he nods. “Okay. I understand. And I really am sorry.”

Harry sighs again, and leans back, tipping his head onto Niall’s shoulder. “I know, Niall. I know.”

*****

Over the next several weeks, Harry struggles to adjust to this new normal, a normal with Louis back in his life. Back in it, but not really. They don’t speak much. Harry gets more comfortable having a drink at the bar after work, where they exchange a few words now and then, but that’s it. Harry can’t quite figure out what’s on Louis' mind. He has occasionally caught Louis watching him with a contemplative look, but he never voices whatever it might be that he’s thinking.

Harry throws himself into his studies. He’s back at the CSCA, this time in the pastry chef program, and it’s challenging, but he’s loving it. He’s really not sure what he’ll do with it when he finishes, there’s not a lot of room for a pastry chef at Hamburger Mary’s, as they serve basic desserts, but he’s always loved to bake. If nothing else, Niall and the rest of the staff are thrilled to taste-test any of his projects. He’s always liked to learn, and figures that nothing he picks up will ever be wasted.

Of course, being with how restaurants are, every single staff member now knows of his shared history with Louis, but as soon as it became clear that they are going to be at least superficially fine with each other, everyone had relaxed, and Harry is fairly sure that some of the more intermittent workers have forgotten entirely. He hasn’t, is the thing.

Seeing Louis like this, 5 days a week, hasn't dulled the pain of the wound his return had reopened. It’s not that he’s still in love with Louis, Harry assures himself, he’s not, he _can’t_ be. That would be ridiculous. It’s just, seeing Louis relaxing into the system at the restaurant, hearing him laugh, watching him joke around with the waitstaff and Niall, it reminds him of how things had been between them for so long, before it all went wrong. He can barely connect the cold and bitter man that Louis had become at the end of their relationship to this person who smiles as easily as he did when they were younger and so in love that Harry ached with it. So Harry watches, and ponders what could have changed.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**DECEMBER 2017**

He’s sitting at the bar after work one night when something shifts between them. It’s a quiet Monday night in early December, the bar is dead, and Niall had let them close the grill 15 minutes early, so it’s not even that late for the restaurant crowd. Harry’s done all of his close down and restocking, and is not anxious to head out. The last time he'd looked out the window, it was snowing something fierce, and he’s in sneakers. He is thinking that maybe he’ll catch a Lyft home, splurge for once instead of walking when he hears Louis ask him something. He raises his head in confusion from where he is studying the bubbles in his Angry Orchard cider, and says, “What? I’m sorry?”

Louis offers a small, uncertain smile from where he is wiping down the bar, standing a few feet away. There’s no uniform for serving staff and bartenders, so unlike the chefs, they get to wear their own clothes. Louis is dressed down tonight in converse high tops, skinny jeans, and an old ACDC t-shirt that Harry remembers from their undergraduate days, layered over a grey thermal. His hair is shorter, recently cut, and as usual, by this time of the night, his scruff is apparent. He’s still the most beautiful man Harry’s ever seen, but Harry ignores this thought to focus on what Louis is saying to him.

“I said, I don’t want to overstep or anything, but I’ve been sort of wondering how you ended up...here?”

“What, in Cambridge?” Harry is confused, as Louis should remember exactly how it was that he’d ended up here.

“No, as a cook.”

Harry frowns in mock outrage, “Excuse you, Louis, I am a culinary school graduate and trained chef, thank you very much,” and they both freeze at the friendly tone in Harry’s voice.

Harry clears his throat. “Anyway, when I...um, first moved, I came here because Niall’s here,” Louis drops his eyes and nods. “So, like, for the first year I was here, I was temping, living on Niall’s couch, didn’t quite know what I was doing.” He coughs and continues. “I was coming home from work one day, and saw an ad for CSCA, the Cambridge School for the Culinary Arts,” he adds at Louis' confused look, “It’s right here in Porter Square. So I looked them up, applied, got in, and completed the course. That was when Niall and I moved into our place, it’s right across the Square.” It occurs to him as he’s speaking that perhaps Louis has even been over, that maybe Niall has had him around when Harry was out, but Louis just nods.

“Right when I was graduating, Niall was finishing at business school, remember?” Louis nods again in remembrance, they’d both been heartbroken when Niall had announced he was moving back to Massachusetts to attend business school. A year later, Harry had been so grateful to have somewhere to go.

“Well, his uncle owns a couple of other Mary’s franchises, one in Chicago and the other in, I think, Hollywood of all places, and asked him if he’d come on as general manager when he opened this one. Niall put in a word for me, so I started up as the head chef right when they opened this one in June. It’s been two and a half years, and I really like it. I mean, I’m also doing the pastry chef course now…” His voice trails off at Louis' look of astonishment.

“You’re doing what now?”

“You didn’t know? Um, yeah, I started their pastry chef program in September, so I’m in classes and labs during the day and on my off days from here, then working here at night, studying around the edges, yeah. It’s been super-busy but I love it.”

Louis still looks astonished. “Wow, that’s amazing, H...Harry.” He coughs, stumbling over the nickname and Harry looks away for a moment, catching his breath. “What do you think you’re going to do with it?”

Harry shrugs, fiddling with his coaster. “I don’t really know. Was going to talk to Niall about adding on pastry baking in-house. Beyond that, I don’t know. I’m not thinking too far ahead honestly.”

Louis smiles and there’s no malice in his tone at all as he teases gently, “Wow, that’s different for you,” and Harry knows he’s remembering all the years of Harry making plans, and Louis mocking him for it, at first lovingly, and then in the end, with a nasty, cutting edge to his voice.

Suddenly sad, Harry swallows the rest of his drink, and stands up, pulling his winter coat around him. “Well,” he says finally, “Things change, Louis.”

He’s almost out the door when he hears Louis calling after him. “Harry, just. Harry, can you wait a moment? Please?”

Harry stops, glances back, but doesn’t turn to face him. Louis move out from behind the bar and approaches him. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry sees Niall entering the restaurant from the staff locker room. He takes one look at the scene unfolding in front of him and whips around, marching smartly back into the staff room he’s just exited.

“Harry,” Louis voice is low, solemn. “I’m sorry.”

Harry turns around slowly. “For what? You didn’t do anything.”

“I’m just,” Louis runs a frustrated hand through his hair, such a _Louis_ gesture that Harry almost smiles. “I’m trying so hard here, I want to respect your boundaries, but it’s hard.”

Harry frowns at this, “What are you talking about? What boundaries? What’s hard?”

“It’s hard acting like we don’t have a shared history when we do. We do, Harry, and…” Louis stops as Harry interrupts him.

“I know we do.”

“Well, I get that you’ve put it all behind you, but I…” Louis doesn’t seem to know how to finish this sentence and shakes his head. “Anyway, I know you were unhappy with my working here at Mary’s with you.”

“It’s fine, Louis.” Harry wonders desperately how Louis might have finished that sentence, if he had felt free to say what he was really thinking. All of a sudden, he finds, he’d really like to know. For a few moments it had been...not like it was between them, when things were effortless, where Harry would have known exactly what Louis was going to say, maybe even before he himself would. No, it’s not like that. But for just a moment it had felt easier, like maybe they could get to know each other as the men they are now, maybe find a way beyond the tense silences and stilted conversations, and all of a sudden, Harry realizes, he might like that. Even if they can’t be friends, Harry is tired of having their shared past hanging over his head like the blade of a guillotine, ready to drop every time he sees Louis. Perhaps they can find a way to get some resolution.

“Maybe,” he says tentatively, “Maybe we could get breakfast. Or coffee. Or something...and talk?”

Louis freezes and stares at him, seemingly dumbfounded for a moment. “Talk?” he says eventually, his voice hoarse, “You want to...talk?” He looks open and somehow vulnerable, but Harry can’t tell what he’s feeling anymore.

In his face, Harry can see the boy he loved beyond reason, the guy he dreamed of spending his life with, the man who broke his heart into a thousand pieces, a heart that has yet to fully heal.

“Yeah,” he says finally, “Talk.”

They make plans to meet the following morning for breakfast at a cafe in Union Square that Harry loves, and when Harry goes to bed later that night, he sleeps the soundest he’s slept in months, possibly years. He refuses to believe the two things are correlated.

The following morning finds Harry standing out in front of the Neighborhood, shivering in the cold December air, hands jammed into his pockets as he surveys the gently falling snow and grey skies. A man rides by on a mountain bike, wearing a ski helmet and goggles, and it’s not until he’s locking up the bike and pulling off the helmet that Harry realizes it’s Louis.

As he walks up to Harry, he looks up at the small brick storefront and says, “Wow, I almost went right by, I’ve never seen this place.”

Harry opens the door and gestures for Louis to enter ahead of him. On a Wednesday morning, it’s practically empty, and Harry feels a moment of gratitude, given the conversation he thinks they may be having. “It’s great, the biggest breakfasts you’ll ever see, Niall and I usually split one, there’s so much food.”

“Well,” Louis rubs his hands to warm them up, “Sounds great, I’m starving. Err, if you want to split something, I’m not averse?”

_Harry yawns and turns over, his eyes flying open when he bumps up against a warm body in the bed next to him. He stares at the boy curled up on the pillow, and feels a foolish grin stretch across his face as he recalls the events of the night before. He and Louis have been dating for a few weeks, and it seems ridiculous given that they share a fucking suite, but they haven’t spent the night in the same bed — until now. Louis had offered Niall his bed in the room he shares with Jake, and they’d fallen asleep kissing, and Harry can’t quite contain how incredible he feels, how adult. He’s never shared a bed with anyone except Niall during sleepovers, and Harry’s never been attracted to him. To wake up plastered to the guy he’s been crushing on for weeks, it feels incredible._

_Louis rolls over, blinks sleepily up at Harry and then grins, as if he, too is being flooded with the same feelings Harry’s having. He leans up to kiss Harry, and smiles again, that soft, secret smile that crinkles his eyes, that until now, Harry has only seen aimed at the computer screen when he Skypes with his family._

_“Hey, baby,” he whispers and Harry feels a fresh thrill at the pet name._

_He reaches one hand up and cups Louis' face, gives him a gentle kiss._

_“Wanna get breakfast?”_

_Louis smiles, and rolls over onto Harry, pressing him into the mattress, and kisses him long and slow and deep. Harry’s never been kissed like that. Harry didn’t even know kisses like that existed._

_“Not yet,” Louis whispers, “Not just yet.”_

They get settled, order coffee, and when Louis scans the menu, he lets out a long, low whistle. “Wow, you were not kidding. This is like breakfast paradise.”

They end up ordering a combo: banana pancakes, scrambled eggs, home fries, toast, and the spicy chorizo the cafe is known for. When the waitress comes back with their coffees and drops the fruit and pastry plates, Louis' eyes go wide. “Holy shit, H, that’s a lot of food.” He frowns as he catches the nickname, and Harry sighs.

“It’s okay, Louis,” he says, and is amazed to find that it is, somehow, okay.

Louis still looks wary and then says, “So, we’re talking about this?”

“I think maybe we have to,” Harry replies quietly. He adds cream and sugar to his coffee, and stirs it a bit. “What did you mean last night, that you’re trying to, what was it? Respect my boundaries?”

“I mean,” and here Louis smiles ruefully, “When I tracked you down at that coffee shop in October, I definitely wasn’t expecting you to welcome me with open arms or anything, of course. I know how I ended things, Harry,” and here a look of something that Harry would almost describe as agony crosses his face.

“You were right, of course, in everything that you said. I should have been more straightforward, I should have told you myself that I was moving here, that I got the job at Mary’s.” He shakes his head. “Anyway, you were really clear that you’d, you know, shut the door on me, and I deserve that, Harry, I do.”

“Lou…” Harry doesn’t quite know what to say, but he’s never been able to stand seeing Louis in pain without wanting to ease it somehow. “I’m sorry too, I was so harsh with you. I was just caught off-guard.” The strength of that understatement strikes him suddenly as funny and he snorts before he can stop himself.

Louis laughs too, though his laughter has a sad tinge to it. “Yeah, like I said. I’d been back for a month or so and I just, all I could think was to try and see you, but then you didn’t want to see me. And I get it, Harry. I’ve tried so hard to just be, you know, professional. And you didn’t seem to want to change that until last night…”

Harry nods, not trusting his voice, and the conversation is interrupted as their breakfast arrives, and they split everything up.

“Jesus, this is amazing,” Louis moans around a bite of pancake. “I’m definitely coming back here.”

There’s silence for a moment as they eat, and then Louis opens his mouth.

“Harry, I know you didn’t want my apology then, but now? Would you be willing to let me offer it?”

Harry swallows, sips his coffee, and then says, “Yeah, of course, Louis.”

“The thing you said, how did you put it? That after my dad died,” and Harry can see the jump in Louis' throat as he swallows, “That I wouldn’t even try? That I broke us, and I broke me, and you didn’t want it to break you too?”

“Yes. That’s what I said,” Harry whispers.

“You were absolutely right. And the thing was, it wasn’t just a little too much whiskey, too much weed. It was _a lot_ too much of...everything. You didn’t know this because I hid it from you. I lied to you. And Harry, I am so, so sorry.”

And here, Louis' voice breaks as Harry stares at him in surprise. He has worked hard to blot out much of that last year, and he never thought Louis would acknowledge it to his face. He never had before. He struggles to keep his face impassive, not wanting to let on what he’s feeling.

“I was out late so many nights because I was stumbling drunk, or passed out at Cal or Olli’s.”

Harry takes a deep breath. “I...I don’t know what to say.”

“After you left, well, it got...bad. Even Cal and Olli got fed up with me. I lost my job. I…” Here Louis looks away as if he can’t meet Harry’s eyes. “I made a lot of bad choices, is all.”

Harry stares at him and then says, “Can I ask you something? About that time before...before I left?”

Louis braces himself visibly and says, “Of course, Harry, you can ask me anything. I won’t lie to you, ever again.”

“Did you cheat on me?”

Louis’ jaw drops in shock.

“I mean,” Harry continues, pushing himself to finish it, hating himself for the look he’s put on Louis' face. “I just, that whole year, I wondered sometimes. And, you know, we obviously weren’t having a lot of sex at that point.”

“No, oh my God, _no_.” Louis’ voice rings with such utter sincerity and horror at the idea that Harry feels something inside of him that’s been tied up in knots for years start to loosen. “For fuck’s sake, no I would never have.” He takes a deep breath, collecting himself. “I can see why you would have worried, and you have no reason to believe me, I know, Harry, but no. I never, ever cheated on you. I never _once_ looked at another man while we were together.”

Their eyes meet and Harry is struck again by the depths of blue in the gaze looking steadily back at him. And then he says, “I do believe you, Louis. I do.” And, he finds, he means every word.

There’s another poignant pause, and then Harry says, “So, what changed for you? I mean, you’re out here, you said you were in grad school, and I don’t even know what you’re studying? Obviously, something big happened for you.”

Louis looks down at this breakfast, and pushes the empty plate away. “Yeah. Okay.” He sucks in a deep breath, in through the nose and out through his mouth. “This is...it’s hard to talk about.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” Harry hastily backtracks, feeling a bit stung.

“No, no.” Louis holds up one hand. “No, I do have to tell you, Harry. It’s just. I don’t want you to hate me even more after this.”

“I don’t hate you, Louis,” Harry whispers, and he resists the urge to drop one hand down and covers Louis’ hand with his own. “I don’t hate you at all anymore. I’m not sure I ever really did. I mean, I was angry, I was so angry with you, but I don’t think I hated you.”

“Okay,” Louis nods sadly. “So, like I said, I was doing a lot more than I’d told you about, and after you left, it got out of control. And then one night, I had a dream,” and here he flushes suddenly, “Actually, it was a dream about you.”

“About me?” Harry says in confusion.

“Yeah, so like, you left in August, and this was December, it was actually my birthday. I didn’t go home that year, I knew I was such a mess, I couldn’t subject my mom and the kids to that. So I was renting a room in this crappy apartment in East Oakland, and I’d been out partying, and I…” his voice trails off and then he whispers, “This is so hard to tell you.”

Harry‘s heart is breaking yet again.

“So, I’d, um...I’d picked up some guy at a club, and he had some blow, and I thought, ‘why not? Nothing fucking matters anymore, so why not?’” Here Louis presses a hand to his eyes for a moment, and then continues. “So we did his cocaine, and then he wanted to fuck me, and I didn’t want to. Let’s just say that he didn’t take that very well.”

Harry’s eyes widen in horror. “Oh my god, Lou. Did he...did he?”

Louis shakes his head. “No, he tried, but I fought him off, broke his nose, he broke mine, and he left, screaming bullshit. When I went to sleep that night, I had a dream about you.”

“You did?” Harry is amazed his voice is clear enough to be understood; the lump in his throat is choking him.

“Yeah, you were sitting on the edge of my bed and you just, god, Harry, you were just glowing, and you said to me, ‘You have to get your shit together, baby.’”

Harry gasps out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. “That...does sound like the kind of thing I might have said.”

Louis smiles at him, his own eyes shimmering with tears. “And it just hit me that you’d loved me, you had loved me _so much_ , Harry, and so well, and that I just threw it away. And that if I kept doing what I was doing, I was going to die. Just like my father.”

Harry stares at him. “What? But, your dad died of a heart attack.”

“He did,” Louis says, “Brought on by complications from his alcoholism.”

_It’s the end of July, and Harry has lost count of how many nights he’s come home to find Louis lying on the couch, not reading, not watching tv, not doing much of anything really, except sipping from the ever-present glass of whiskey at his side. A glass that is never empty. Since he’d gotten the news that his birth father had died, he’d been in a bad place. Harry has never seen him like this before, and he vacillates between scared and annoyed. He’s tried talking to Louis about it, but he’d just brushed Harry off._

_“He’s a jackass who abandoned me twice, Harry. I really couldn’t give a shit that he’s dead. It’s nothing to me.”_

_But, it’s clear to Harry, it’s not nothing, not even close. Harry knows that Louis' feelings about the different fathers he’s had run deep, and he doesn’t like to talk about it. He’d told Harry a few times about Troy, how he’d walked out on Jay when Louis was a newborn, how he’d reappeared when he was 10, and fucked off again when he was 13. How much more of a father his step-dad, Mark, had been to him, how devastated he’d been when that marriage had ended._

_Once, late in their junior year, he’d been drunk and had said to Harry, “I’ll never, ever fucking do that to my kids, you know? Never. My kids are gonna know how much I love them, how important they are to me, and I will never, ever fucking leave them. Not for one day.”_

_“C’mon, Louis,” Harry says, grabbing the mostly empty bottle to put it away. “It’s Friday night. Let’s do something, go out.”_

_He shoves the bottle into the cabinet and turns around to find Louis standing unsteadily in the doorway._

_“I got a better idea,” he says, and crosses the room to lean in for a kiss. Harry can taste the whiskey on his breath. Louis’ hand runs down his side, cups his ass through his khaki work trousers. “Why don’t we stay in?”_

_Harry lets Louis tug him into the bedroom, lets him undress them both, lay him out on the bed. He lets Louis open him up and only winces inaudibly when Louis is a bit rougher than usual. When Louis takes him from behind, is buried deep within him, and Harry feels the hot splash of tears on his back, he doesn’t say a word, just reaches up to hold Louis’ hand in his. It’s the last time they make love._

“I didn’t even know until a few months later, when I told my mom what was going on. The reason she kicked him out was that he was a raging alcoholic, and that’s what killed him.”

“Oh my god.” Harry sits back, trying to process everything that he’s just been told. “So, you had that dream, what did you do?”

“I got up on Christmas Day,” Louis says, “and I went to my first AA meeting.”

Oh. _Oh_. Harry exhales. “And how was it?”

Louis snorts, “It was awful, Harry. But in some ways, it was also amazing too. There I was, still stinking of alcohol, barely had the blood cleaned off my face, hungover as shit. And every single person there, they welcomed me, they told me they believed in me, and that they could help me, if I would let them.”

“And what did you do?”

Louis smiles, the first wide, genuine smile he’s aimed at Harry in, well, years, and says, “I let them.”

They drink more coffee and keep talking. Louis tells Harry how he’d gotten a sponsor, a guy named Gary, who took no shit from him, and helped him pull himself out of the dangerous place he’d gotten himself to.

“I called him every day for a year, Harry. I went to a meeting every day. He told me that he could smell the lies on me, and that I wasn’t allowed to lie to him, and so I told him everything.”

“So, I just have to ask,” Harry says, “Why bartending? I mean, it seems like an odd choice for a…” his voice trails off, and he doesn’t want to label Louis the wrong way.

Louis laughs at the question, “It’s good money, and the hours work for me with law school, that’s what I’m doing by the way, I’m at Harvard,” and here he blushes a bit.

Harry stares at him, “Oh my god, Louis, that’s amazing! I had no idea.”

Louis shrugs, “Well, like I said, I honestly didn’t think you’d ever speak to me again, so it just never really came up.”

“How’d you decide on law school? That was never something…”

Louis just nods. “After I got sober and got my act together a bit, I started working part-time as a paralegal at this firm in San Francisco, while I was bartending at night, and it was just fascinating, made me want to learn more. They really encouraged me to go. The firm was founded by HLS grads, so they wrote my recommendations, and I always did well on tests, so my LSATS were, um, good.”

Harry is curious, and remembers that Louis said he could ask him anything. “So, sober? Is that what you are now? Do you still go to meetings?”

Louis pauses, gathering his thoughts, and then says slowly, “Well, it’s been an interesting journey. It actually wasn’t that difficult for me to stop drinking and using, and that year that I was working with Gary as my sponsor, I really did identify as an alcoholic the way AA defines it. But we had a lot of conversations as I was working the steps, and it became clear that my experience with alcohol was really different from his. He helped me get sober the way he knew how, and god, Harry, he taught me so much about being an adult, I guess you’d call it. How to take responsibility for my life and my choices. How to grow up and be a man, basically.”

Harry nods. Of all the things he’d pictured happening to Louis while they were apart, he’d never thought something like this could have happened.

“For Gary, it was like an allergy, almost. He’d talk about the craving for alcohol and how it felt for him. It wasn’t like that for me, and we came to agree that while yes, I was an alcoholic, I wasn’t one in the same way he was. It’s more like, I fell into it as a way to numb myself, to medicate my depression and anger at losing my dad and all that bullshit, feeling so lost in general, and then,” he pauses for a moment, “losing you.”

Here Harry’s heart drops, because of course he’s wondering, was this his fault? For leaving? For not saying anything? He looks at Louis but before he can put words to the questions in his head, Louis says, “No, Harry, it wasn’t your fault, it was my choices, my bad decisions. It wasn’t just that my dad died, it was graduating, not knowing what I wanted to do, where I wanted to be. I’d always been so sure, you know? But after we graduated, I felt so lost, and you were just...so secure about everything. That it would all be okay even if you didn’t really know what you were doing either. The more scared and angry I got, the more I felt like I was drowning in my own mind, and booze and weed, they just made it go quiet.”

Here he shrugs. “We all know impulse control hasn’t always been my strongest point but I think I’ve learned a lot in the last few years. With Gary’s total support, I transitioned from AA to SMART Recovery, which is a different model. I can tell you all about it at some point if you’re interested, but basically, it’s a more rationally-based program as opposed to a spiritual program. I worked SMART from January of 2016 until I left, and I’ve been going to groups here since I moved, once or twice a week. They don’t have sponsors like AA, but I’ve met some really cool folks. Made a couple of real friends.”

Louis pauses, and then takes a breath and continues. “There’s just one thing I want to make sure you understand. I didn’t come to you to make amends before now, when I was working the steps because, well, you’re not supposed to make amends when reaching out to someone would hurt them even more. I wanted to, but I thought it was better not to. And now, well, I’m on a different path, but I still want you to know how sorry I am.”

Harry simply nods, and asks, “So, do you not drink at all?”

“Well,” Louis says casually, “One of the ways that I treated my depression and anger was with a more appropriate medication than alcohol, and drinking a depressant while you’re on an antidepressant is counter-intuitive, to say the least. Also, for the kind of alcoholism that AA treats, they don’t have a model that includes moderate drinking. But, I guess I wasn’t that kind of an alcoholic? Or maybe it’s just that I was abusing drugs and alcohol to self-medicate, and I’ve found better ways to take care of myself.

“In any case, I’m off the meds now, and I am able to drink moderately, but I’m really careful with it. I never have more than one drink in an evening, I don’t drink the hard stuff at all, and I never drink more than two nights out of the week. Basically, I do like to have a really nice glass of wine with dinner occasionally, or a beer when I’m hanging out, but that’s it. I don’t touch anything else now, ever. And I go to meetings at least once a week, to check in, to keep me on track. I was in therapy for over a year as well, and I know that’s an option if I feel like I’m slipping.”

“Louis,” Harry found himself stumbling over his words, “I don’t even...I don’t know what to say. I mean, I’m blown away.” He’s suddenly struck by how different the man sitting in front of him seems, how mature and well put-together he is. Like someone who’s been through something really hard, and come out the other side. Transformed.

He says as much and Louis laughs. “I don’t know, I mean, yeah there were some hard things, mostly because of my own terrible decisions, so I don’t know that I deserve a whole lot of credit for, you know, not making such terrible life choices any more.”

Harry frowns. “No, that’s not true. It takes a lot of, I don’t know, courage I guess, to realize that your life isn’t working, and to choose to change it.”

Louis just gazes at him and says, “Well, I had you for an example, didn’t I? None of this was your fault, Harry, and after so long of things not working, you did the right thing. The hardest thing, I think, but maybe it was the best thing for both of us.”

Harry covers his face for a moment, and then laughs slightly to cover the shock of Louis talking about it so directly. He doesn’t know how wrong he is.

“So,” he says finally, as the waitress, sensing things have shifted, sneaks the check onto the table as she refills their coffee cups. “Where does this leave us? Where do we go from here?”

Louis shrugs, and waves at Harry to put his wallet away. “Put it away, Styles, it’s on me. And, I guess, well, we’ll be whatever you want, Harry, because here’s the thing. You were right, beyond anything else, we were friends. You are the best friend I’ve ever had in my life. I know we can’t be that again, but god, if you were willing, Harry, I’d just like to be in your life again. In whatever way you’ll have me.” His face is open, eyes shining and clear, and all of a sudden Harry wants nothing more than to spend the rest of the day in this man’s presence. And that scares the shit out of him.

He takes a deep breath. “We can’t go back to what we were, Lou. But I think, maybe, we could move forward? Figure out a way to be friends?” His voice sounds tentative to his own ears, but Louis looks happy, and something else. Grateful. “I think we could do that.”

Louis nods and then glances at his phone. “Oh shit, I really do have to get going, I’ve got a meeting and then class, but, I’ll see you at work later?” He tosses a $10 tip on the table and gathers his things and they make their way out of the small restaurant and over to where Louis has locked his bike.

Harry laughs. “So, you ride all winter?”

“Yeah,” Louis grins as he slides on his helmet and pulls his goggles down over his eyes. “That’s another thing I learned. I do better when I’m getting regular exercise, so not having a car and having to bike everywhere, it’s good for me. A little different here than in San Francisco, where I could take my bike on BART and they have bike lanes just about everywhere.”

“Yeah,” Harry frowns, thinking of some of the close calls he’s had as a pedestrian. “They don’t call them Massholes for nothing, you know, be careful.”

Louis gives him a thumbs up. “Oh, I am, believe me.” He gives Harry a long look and his voice is thick as he says, “Thank you, Harry. For listening. My god, this is so much more than I ever could have hoped for. And,” here he looks hopeful, asks quietly, “Do you think we could do this again? We spent so much time talking about me, I didn’t get to hear more about you, and I…” His voice trails off and then he shakes his head briefly, “I’d just, I’d really like that.”

All Harry can do is nod and say, “Yeah, of course.”

Louis flashes that same grin he always had, part angel, part devil. “Okay, I’ll see you at work.”

And with that, he’s on his bicycle and away, leaving Harry standing alone on the sidewalk, wondering what, exactly, has just transpired.

*****

Harry usually loves working weekends at Hamburger Mary’s. He has no classes or labs earlier in the day, so he’s typically gotten to sleep in. But, it’s December 23rd, which means tomorrow is Christmas Eve, traditionally a very busy day for them—they’re right in Porter Square, and get a lot of foot traffic on holidays. The restaurant will be closed on Sunday for Christmas Day, but part of working in this business is that you always end up working holidays. Since Harry grew up in Groton, it’s not a big deal to him. He and Niall will be driving out Sunday morning to spend the day with their respective families, and will head back home the same night. Harry wonders what Louis will be doing. He hasn’t asked for any time off, so Harry knows he won’t be going home to Santa Barbara. He hopes Louis has somewhere to be, with people who care about him, and tamps down the worry he feels.

He doesn’t need to worry about Louis Tomlinson anymore, he reminds himself, it’s not his responsibility.

He gets to the restaurant a little early, but Louis is already behind the bar. Since their breakfast a couple of weeks ago, they’ve been much friendlier at work, though they haven't found another time to hang out one-on-one. Niall’s been hinting that he’d like to start inviting Louis over for movie night, and, Harry realizes with a shock, he’s okay with that. More than okay with it.

He waves and steps up to the bar, quirking a quizzical eyebrow at Louis, who’s slicing some lemons.

“What are you doing here? Thought you weren’t on until tonight.”

Louis flashes him a quick grin. “I’m doing a double. Jesy wanted to go home a bit earlier, she’s still feeling low from that break-up and needed her mom, so I said I’d cover. I figured being a Friday, it might not be too bad, but man, it was busy all day. This is the first lull we’ve had!”

Harry grins. “I could have told you that. Lots of people out shopping for last minute presents, need a break and a bite, and here we are.”

Louis rolls his eyes, “More like a break and a drink!”

“Does that ever get weird for you?” Harry asks curiously.

“What, serving drinks to be people who might be using in a not-so-good way?” Ever perceptive, Louis understands exactly what Harry’s asking. “Not...really, no. I mean, I tend to cut people off a little quicker then some ‘tenders, and I keep a very close eye on the dynamics of the room, at least what I can see from behind the bar here. At the Mary’s I worked at in San Francisco, we had posters in the ladies room with codes for women to let the bartenders know if they needed some help. You know, like a bad date or something. We had a Lyft fund for that.”

Harry stares at Louis. “That’s an amazing idea, you should tell that to Niall, I know he’ll want to do that here.”

Louis just glances down at the bar, his long eyelashes sweeping his cheeks, and suddenly Harry is hurtled into the past.

_It’s a rainy night in Berkeley, unusually cold for October in Northern CA, and Harry and Louis are the only two in the suite. The other boys had all gone to some frat party, but Louis is getting over a cold, and Harry hadn’t wanted to leave him by himself. They’re curled up on the couch together, snuggled under Harry’s favorite fuzzy, purple blanket, watching a movie. Harry’s never felt this way about anyone before. He’s 18, and rapidly falling for the prettiest boy he’s ever met, and if the shy glances and brushing touches are any indication, Louis is feeling the same way. This is the first time they’ve been truly alone together, and Harry can’t help it, his heart is pounding in anticipation as he shifts a bit, turning his head slightly to look at the boy next to him. Louis is resolutely staring at the movie, but as Harry looks at him, a blush starts to cover his cheeks, and in that moment, Harry knows. He knows exactly what’s happening here. He’s never felt so strong in his life, like he could move mountains if Louis wanted him to. Fly, maybe. Anything Louis wants from Harry, he can have, and Harry thinks that maybe, just maybe, Louis knows this too._

_“Take a picture, Styles, it’ll last longer.” Louis' voice is a bit hoarse from the cold, and as he glances down, his long lashes sweeping his cheeks, Harry can’t contain himself any longer._

_“Can’t help it, Lou, you’re just so pretty.”_

_Louis scrunches his face up in mock annoyance, flushing harder, and finally, finally turns to look back at Harry. “Pretty, huh? Nice talk, but talk is cheap, Styles. What are you going to do about it?”_

_Excitement catches Harry’s breath in his throat. “I don’t know, Lou. What do you want me to do about it?”_

_Louis' hand raises, seemingly of his own accord, cups Harry’s cheek, his thumb sweeping lightly across Harry’s lips, which part just a bit under his touch. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do, H.”_

_Harry’s eyes close for a moment, overwhelmed with how much he feels, like his heart is going to explode out of his chest, like there’s no possible way that one small, fragile, human body could contain this much love. Then he opens his eyes and says, “I want everything, Lou. Everything with you.”_

_He’s not prepared for Louis to light up like the sun, like a star gone fucking supernova. His eyes going wide, and as he leans in to kiss Harry, he whispers, “Are you sure, Harry? I need you to be sure.”_

_His lips ghost over Harry’s as Harry murmurs back, “I have never been so sure of anything in my life, Lou. Please. Just...kiss me, please.”_

_And then, Louis' mouth lands on his, and Harry is lost to everything but the boy in front of him._

_“No turning back,” his mind whispers, “No turning back now.”_

Harry gasps, brings one hand up to his treacherous heart. He mutters abruptly, “I gotta get ready for work,” and flees into the staff room, bumping into Niall as he goes. He slams his locker open, yanks out his uniform, starts to change. He gives a yelp as Niall comes in.

“Um, you okay, Harry?” The honest concern in Niall’s voice cuts through the panic in Harry’s mind, and he pauses, pressing his forehead against the cold metal of the lockers.

“Yeah, it’s just.” Harry sighs. “It’s hard sometimes. Being friends again. Like, I know it’s for the best, but sometimes I remember how it was, and. It _hurts_ , Ni. It just fucking hurts. I don’t understand why, it’s been three years, and I was over him. I was.”

He feels Niall approach him, wrap him in a hug from behind, so they stand pressed back to front for a moment.

“Are you...do you think you’re developing feelings for him again, Harry?” Niall’s voice is quiet, cautious as he poses the question.

“No.” Harry says firmly, as much to himself as to Niall. “I just, things were so awful between us for so long, that whole year before we finally split, and then nothing for three years. It’s just weird, because he’s so much like he used to be, but he’s so much _more_ now too. I don’t know, it’s just confusing. Like, I know him, but I don’t anymore. I don’t think I know how to feel.”

Niall gives him another squeeze and lets him go; Harry turns to face him, pulling on his embroidered chef’s jacket over his t-shirt and tying on his green chef’s hat. “It’ll be fine, Niall,” he says firmly, “Just got a bit caught up in the memories is all. Anyway, I think we’re going to have a busy night.” Dropping the subject, he heads out to his station to get to work.

By the end of the evening, he’s drooping a bit. They’d been slammed from 5:30 to 10, and now, at 11:30, it’s suddenly dead and he’s finally beginning his close-down routine. He restocks the perishables, makes a note to Niall about ordering, and finally, _finally_ is done. He pulls off his cap and jacket and tosses them on the counter. He then stretches, long and hard, to get the ache of his lumbar region, arching his back, hands on hips. He hears a muffled curse and a thud, and jerks upright to see Louis, standing in the archway to his section, with a container of cut lemons on the ground at his feet, staring at him a bit wild-eyed.

“You okay, Lou?” He raises one eyebrow as he comes out from behind the counter.

“Uh, yeah.” Louis runs a hand through his hair, looks down at the mess at his feet and sighs. “Shit. I just spent 20 minutes cutting those up.”

Harry grabs a broom and helps him clean up the mess, wondering a bit about what just happened. Louis has never been clumsy like that.

As he sweeps, he glances at Louis. “So, tomorrow’s a big day, huh? 27. That’s late twenties, Tomlinson.” He easily dodges the bar towel Louis flicks at him with a laugh. “Got any big plans?” His tone softens from the teasing note he’d adopted. “And, what are you doing for Christmas, Lou?” The nickname slips out of him. “Have you, um, have you got somewhere to go?” He dumps the lemons into the trash, and stashes the broom and dustpan back where it belongs, leaving the container on the floor for a moment as Louis speaks.

Louis smiles, small but genuine. “Yeah, I couldn’t swing the plane ticket home, so I’m working tomorrow, and then Sunday evening, I’m going to a friend’s house. But I’ve got skype dates with the family tomorrow and Sunday.”

Harry smiles, remembering how hard Louis’ mom had always worked to separate his birthday from Christmas. He’d always tried to do the same. “How,” he clears his throat, “How is Jay?”

Louis’ smile softens. “She’s good. She actually got remarried, to Dan. They got married the fall after...um, you moved. And,” here his smile transforms and he’s beaming, “They had twins, a boy and a girl, they’re 15 months now or so, so fucking cute.”

Harry’s heart stutters at how much he’s missed. He’d been so close to Louis’ family, they’d been his home away from home for _years_ , and when he’d lost Louis, he’d mourned that collateral loss too, hard. He’d exchanged a couple of emails with Jay, where she’d been nothing but lovely and supportive of him, but he hadn’t felt like he could continue to hold on to a family that wasn’t truly his. He’s missed them, so fucking much.

Suppressing the pang he feels, he says instead, “Babies? I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me, Tomlinson.” He makes grabby hands at Louis who is laughing at him, “Show me the pictures, c’mon.”

Louis pulls out his phone, and, to Harry’s surprise, instead of opening the photo album, opens Instagram.

“Wait, you have an Insta?” Harry’s voice is shocked. Years ago, Louis had not been a fan of social media.

_“Harry, pay attention to me.” They’ve known each other for three weeks, and Harry is already pretty sure that he wants to spend the rest of his life just paying most of his attention to one Louis Tomlinson, but right at this moment, he’s engaged in a Very Important Project._

_“Louis,” Harry says, not looking up from his phone, “Just a second, I really want to put this picture up on my Insta.”_

_He tries to focus on picking the exact right filter that will capture everything he’s trying to say without words, ignoring the boy sprawled out next to him on his dorm bed for the time being._

_“Harrrrrrrry,” Louis drawls, grabbing Harry’s phone and tossing it down onto the bed, “C’mon, you’ve been fucking around with that stupid phone for hours! Pay attention to me!”_

_Harry bursts out laughing as he reaches for his phone, “Fuck off, it’s been like 10 minutes!” He shouts as Louis grabs him by the wrists and they wrestle for a moment, until Harry is flat on his back, head hanging off the side of the bed, screaming for mercy as Louis tickles him._

_“Fuck, get off, Lou, I’m gonna pee!”_

_Louis rolls his eyes, stills his fingers but does not shift his body from where he’s using it to pin Harry to the bed._

_“I’ve got four little sister, Styles, I’m not afraid of a bit of pee. Anyway, Instagram is for stupid hipsters, no one’s life is that interesting. Let’s go get lunch, c’mon.”_

_Oblivious to Harry’s delighted agony as a result of their position, Louis rolls off of him. Harry sighs in disappointment and relief, relieved to see that his phone screen has turned off as Louis hands it back to him. He shoves it in his pocket. He’ll find the perfect filter to highlight the beauty of Louis’ eyes later._

Louis smiles as he scrolls through pictures too quickly for Harry to analyze his content, until he stops on a photo of two adorable toddlers, both with long hair, one a sweet blonde, the other an adorable red head. Harry can’t help but let out a coo of delight and knows the look on his face matches the sound he just made. “Oh my god, Lou, they’re adorable.”

Louis is looking at Harry with soft fondness. “Yeah, they’re pretty cute. It’s fun having a brother, sucks to be so far away though.”

Harry pulls out his own phone, “What’s your Insta? I’ll follow you, I want to see baby pictures.”

“Um, okay,” Louis holds out his phone as Harry opens the app and quickly finds him, taps the follow button.

“Are you on any other social media?” Harry asks quietly. He’d never looked for Louis and it feels...unsettling to him, knowing that he’s being given a window into Louis’ life between now and then. He’s not sure how much he really wants to know.

Louis shakes his head. “I didn’t delete my Facebook, but it’s inactive. I don’t know, it never felt like there was a healthy way to get back to it. I went on Insta because my sisters love it, and especially now that I’m out here, it’s a good way to stay a bit more connected.”

Harry’s voice is soft. “You must miss them a lot, being out here.”

Louis looks down, sighs. “Yeah, I mean, I couldn’t turn down Harvard, but it’s tough, especially with the littles.”

“Do you,” Harry clears his throat, “Do you think you’ll go back? To California?”

Louis shrugs. “I don’t know. One of the things I learned in therapy is that if I worry too much about too far into the future, I get anxious, and anxious me doesn’t always make, let’s call them, good life choices. So, right now, I’m just concentrating on enjoying this break and getting a jump on next semester. One of my old bosses told me that if you haven’t already read 400 pages per class for law school by the first day, you’re already behind, and fuck me, but it’s true.”

“How’d the first semester go, anyway?”

Louis flashes a fierce grin, and Harry is reminded once more that not only is he whip-smart, he’s competitive as hell when he wants to be, and Harry wonders why no one ever suggested law school to him before? It seems like such an obvious fit.

“It went well,” is all Louis says, but Harry is pretty sure that’s an understatement.

“So, you’re going to be with friends for Christmas?”

“Yeah,” Louis takes a breath. “These two guys I met in SMART, they’re our age. Zayn’s from California too, but from LA, and Liam’s from some town out west of here, I can’t remember what it’s called. Crofton? New England town names are weird.”

Harry stares at him. “Um, Groton? By any chance is his name Liam Payne?”

Louis stares at him and then says quietly, “I can’t tell you that, but. Wow, I didn’t make that connection.”

Harry is dumbfounded. “Well, if by any chance it is Liam Payne, tell him I say hello. We grew up together, but I lost touch with him when we went to college. We weren’t really friends, but he was always a good guy. I tried to keep in touch, but he sort of dropped off the face of the earth.” He wonders silently what happened to Liam that he ended up in a sobriety program, but if it is him, he’s glad Louis has somewhere to be. Liam had always been a genuinely kind and decent kid. “Wait, are you coming out to Groton?”

Louis shakes his head and, oddly enough, Harry feels a brief stab of disappointment. “Nah, they’re going out for family stuff, but they’re planning to be back for the 3:00 meeting, so we’re going to meet up there and then I’m going to their place to hang out. I’ll be skyping with the family as soon as they get up. I’ll do some reading, have a lazy morning, it’ll be fine.”

Harry tries to remind himself that he and Louis are barely friends yet, that there’s still a lot of hurt left between them to figure out, but for a brief moment, he contemplates inviting Louis to go home with him.

“Anyway,” Louis says oblivious to Harry’s internal struggle, “How about you?” His voice shifts, sounds a bit more nervous. “How’s your mom? Gemma?”

“They’re, yeah, they’re, um.” Harry stumbles over his words.

It’s so fucking awkward, this part. How do they do this, exchange news about their families when they _were_ each other’s families. Harry doesn’t have any idea how to go about this, but he swallows down the anxiety and tries his best.

“Good, they’re good. My mom’s still doing the real estate thing. Gemma’s actually out in LA now, weirdly enough. She’s working for a film studio as a...something that I don’t understand actually, but it involves numbers. She got her MBA from BC and got snapped up right away.” The pride in his voice is unmistakeable.

“She’s been seeing this guy for a couple of years, I don’t know him well, but he seems awesome. They just adopted a puppy, and they brought him for Christmas. They actually got in last week, so I got to go out on one of my days off. If you, uh, follow me back on Insta, you’ll see a ton of pictures I took, he’s so cute!”

Louis grins, “The boyfriend? Or the puppy?”

“Oh my fucking god,” Harry’s cheeks flame, “The puppy, Louis, Jesus Christ. I’m not crushing on my sister’s boyfriend.”

He’s stunned into silence by Louis' next question. “Are you crushing on anyone else, Harry?”

Louis is not meeting his eyes, and Harry has the distinct impression that he hadn’t actually intended to say those words aloud, but they’re out there now, hanging between them like a grenade with the pin pulled, and Harry doesn’t quite know what to say. If talking about their families was awkward, this is excruciating.

“Um, no.” He says finally, not sure why he feels guilty. “I haven’t dated anyone seriously in awhile, you know. I’ve been pretty busy with school and work and whatever. And my schedule isn’t really conducive to, like, dating a banker or something.”

“Oh,” Louis says. That’s all he says, just, “Oh.” Then, without another word, he picks up the empty lemon container off of the floor and walks back to the bar.

Harry shakes his head, heads back to the staff room to get changed and go home, deciding not to hang out until the bar closes for once.

The next morning, Harry wakes up slowly, yawns and indulges in a leisurely stretch, looking around his room. He loves this apartment. They’re on a tiny side street right behind an elementary school. He can pretty much always find parking for the car he rarely drives but refuses to give up. He can walk to the T, the Porter Square stores, classes and work. Their landlord is a crazy hippie who lives in Union Square and doesn’t charge them anywhere near what he could get for the place because he likes their auras or some such thing. It’s actually a three bedroom, so they have a living room and an office, which Harry has filled with plants since it gets the morning light. Speaking of which, he needs to water those.

He heads out of his room into the kitchen, where Niall is sitting in his underwear drinking coffee and staring blankly out the window into the neighbor’s kitchen.

Harry ruffles his hair affectionately as he heads to the coffee pot, and Niall turns a sleepy face to him with a smile.

“You look tired,” Harry comments and Niall shrugs.

“Was up late. Had a spot of trouble at the bar at closing.”

“Oh?” Harry drops into the chair next to Niall. Their kitchen has a weird layout, and there’s really not enough room for a table, but they’ve squeezed one in anyway because Harry insisted. The heart of a home is the kitchen, he’s always known this, and no way in hell was he living in an apartment with no kitchen table to sit at. He sips his coffee and quickly adds a bit more sugar. Niall is many wonderful and talented things, but he seems to be incapable of making coffee at any strength other than industrial, no matter how many tutorials Harry has given him over the years.

“What happened? Everything okay?” It’s rare that things get out of control at Hamburger Mary’s, it’s really not that kind of a joint, but every once in a while, things can get heated.

“Yeah, Louis had to cut some guy off. He was pathetic. The guy, not Louis, of course. Guess he had some sort of midlife crisis and dumped his wife and kid this summer and now that it’s Christmas, he’s realizing he made a big mistake. Anyway, Louis told him no more when he tried to order three shots at last call, and he just blew up. Threw his glass, took a swing.”

Harry can’t help himself, he starts up nervously and, “Shit, is he okay? Louis, I mean?”

“Oh yeah,” Here Niall starts to laugh. “He blocked the hit and just said in this calm voice, “‘Hey man, I don’t think I’m the one you want to hit, and more booze isn’t going to make it hurt any less in the morning, I should know.’” Niall pauses suddenly as Harry pales and then nods to himself.

“What,” Harry clears his throat, trying to ignore how hard those quoted words have hit him, “What did the guy do?”

Niall snorts, shaking his head. “Burst into tears, cried a whole bunch, Louis got him to drink some water, talked him out of calling the ex while shitfaced, and stuffed him into a cab to get him home. What are you up to today?”

Harry shrugs, gives up Niall’s coffee as a lost cause, and gets up to put a fresh pot on. “Dunno. I have a little bit more shopping to do, thought I’d go into Harvard Square later, do that before work.” Nagging at him is the fact that it’s Louis' birthday, and he’s very far from home and family. He sits back down, scoots his chair closer to Niall so he can bury his face in Niall’s shoulder. “Would it be insane if I made Louis a cake?”

Niall, bless him, simply reaches a hand up to start running his fingers through Harry’s messy curls. “Nah, Harry, it’d be very you. I mean, you are going to be a baker, aren’t you? I’m surprised you haven't already cooked for him. It’s what you do for people you...care about.”

Harry twists his head awkwardly to frown at Niall, who just pokes him in the nose. Rude. “It’s not like that, Ni, you know that. It’s just...His mom always made a big deal of his birthday, and she’s so far away. Seems like it’d be a nice thing to do.” He can hear the grump in his voice as he says, “It’s not like I, you know, _care_ about him.”

Niall just smiles, slow and sure. “‘Course, Harry. Yeah, go for it. Since you’re going into the square, I’ll bring it with me when I come in, I’m on at 5 tonight.”

“Would you? That’d be awesome.” Harry lifts his head and says again, “It’s not like that, Niall.”

Niall gets up and heads into the bathroom, with the words, “Keep telling yourself that, my friend,” disappearing over his shoulder as he shuts the door.

Harry grabs one of his favorite dessert cookbooks and starts flipping through.

_“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday day to you, happy birthday dear Louis, happy birthday to you!”_

_Harry sets the lopsided cake, alight with twenty pink and white polka-dotted candles in front of his beaming boyfriend. Finals are over, but before the 8 suitemates scatter to their respective homes for Christmas, they’re having “Louis’ Birthday Observed.”_

_Louis stares at the cake in amazement and then turns eyes that shimmer in the candlelight to Harry. “Harry,” he whispers, “did you make me this?”_

_Harry nods, trying not to beam with pride. “Yup. Commandeered the lounge kitchen while you were at the gym. I know how much you love chocolate cake.”_

_Louis’ face breaks open into that shining smile. “Not as much as I love you, baby.” He swipes a finger through the frosting, licks it off with an appreciative groan, then leans over to kiss Harry, waving off the shouts of their suitemates. He whispers as he leans in, “Won’t ever love anything as much I love you.”_

Harry sets the book aside, sighs, and gets to work.

An hour and a half later, he carefully maneuvers the cake into the carrier and covers it up. He gets himself ready to head out to Harvard Square, saying to Niall as he pulls on his coat, “Cake’s in the kitchen, don’t forget?”

Niall gives him a thumbs up. “I won’t.” He stands up, “I’ll put my gift right next to it, so I’ll remember them both.”

Harry pauses, “You got him a present?”

Niall sighs. “Of course I did, Harry. Look, I know it’s hard and awkward, but he wasn’t just your boyfriend, he was one of my best friends too. I know he was a total dick to you, and I think I know how bad things were.”

Harry stares. “You do?”

Niall nods seriously. “Yeah, right after he moved here, we got together, and he told me the story, at least, some of it. Apologized for freezing me out for so long. I have to give him credit, Harry. He worked really hard to come back from a bad place. I know he hurt you, and for years, I chose you, but…” his voice trails off.

“I didn’t ask you to,” Harry whispers, feeling guilty for something that he can’t quite pinpoint. “I never asked you to choose.”

Niall closes the distance between them and yanks Harry into a hug. “I know, brother. I know that, and I’m thankful for that. It’s just. He’s really trying, and from what he’s said, he’s come a really long way. And I think he’s kind of lonely out here. In any case, he was one of my best friends, and I missed him too. So yeah, I got him a present.”

Harry just nods. “I would never stand between you guys, you know that? I just, I’m still trying to figure this all out.”

Niall smiles, looking relieved. “I know it’s a lot, Harry. It had to have been bad for you to leave him, because you’re loyal to a fault, always have been. I guess what I’m saying is, he deserves a second chance. At least with me, he does. He’s already got it. Anyway, get going, you’ve got presents to buy! I’ll bring the cake when I come in later.”

When Harry pushes his way off the T into the crowd in the square, he can’t stop thinking about his conversation with Niall. He feels off-kilter, unbalanced, and he’s not sure why. As he pokes about in the stores, he finds himself turning Niall’s words over and over in his mind. He finds a great sweater for Gemma in Mint Julep, and a gorgeous notebook for his mother in the Moleskine store. He buys silly stocking stuffers at Black Ink, and stocks up on Niall’s favorite Irish tea at Cardullo’s. He glances at his phone. It’s a warm afternoon for December, and the fresh air feels good on his face, so he decides to walk the mile or so distance from Harvard to Porter, and heads down Mass Ave.

When he passes the Unitarian church on the corner of, oddly enough, Church Street, he pauses. There’s a craft fair going on, and there's a few vendors set up on the sidewalk outside. He pushes through the crowd to get close, and then stops in delight at the wares in the center booth.

“These are great,” he exclaims, and the woman selling them smiles back. “Did you make these?”

She laughs. “Yeah, I go to estate sales, find old silverware and repurpose it.” She’s got napkin rings, earrings, bracelets, and. Oh. Windchimes. Harry reaches one hand up and touches one softly.

_Harry isn’t sure his heart can take how happy he is. “Say it again,” he whispers, staring at Louis, who has stopped in the the middle of the street,._

_“Let’s go back and get it, that windchime you were so in love with.” It’s been misting all day, and the rain is starting to pick up now, plastering Louis’s hair to his head and making his eyelashes starfish out around his eyes. He’s grinning at Harry, ignoring the rain as they look at each other. It’s been an incredible day. They’d ditched all the work they had waiting for them back in Berkeley, and had convinced (well, bribed really) Niall to drop them off at the Ferry Building in San Francisco. They’d taken the ferry to Sausalito, spent the day wandering the streets, eaten the best seafood Harry has ever had, held hands as they’d talked about everything, everything that is, but their future. They’re two months from graduating and Louis has been curiously resistant to making plans. Nothing about them is in question, of course. They’re forever, Harry knows they are, but he’s eager to get the details figured out so they can get going._

_“No, the other part,” he says, watching the way the smile plays with the corners of Louis’s mouth._

_“What,” Louis says with a knowing smirk, “the part about how we’ll hang it up in whatever crappy apartment we get?”_

_“Yeah,” Harry breathes, “That part.”_

_“We’ll get some crappy apartment in Oakland and we’ll hang it up, drive the neighbors crazy. I guess I’ve been scared to think about it, Harry, but I know there’s nothing to be scared of. We’re going to be fine. Let’s go get that stupidly expensive windchime and we’ll hang it up in our first home.”_

_So they do exactly that, race back to the store and buy the windchime, the clerk laughing at their excitement. They barely make the ferry back to San Francisco, and spend the whole ride back to the terminal kissing on the deck. Harry is on fire with love for this boy, so alight with hope for the future that he thinks they could see him burning from outer space._

_Two months later, they graduate and move into their first apartment together, and hang the windchime, just like Louis promised they would. That night, after all their friends have departed from their impromptu moving in/housewarming party, Harry fucks Louis in the bed they’d bought together two days before and thinks, “This is just the beginning.”_

Suddenly Harry is tired of it. Tired of the emotion, tired of the sadness, the rollercoaster of emotion that he’s been riding since October. He pushes away the memories, the good and the bad, and looks at the windchimes hanging in front of him, so different from the one they’d had those many years ago. These are their own thing, beautiful in their own right. Then he sees it — one of them has blue and green beads, with silver spoons hanging down. As he looks more closely at them, he can see several of the spoons are engraved with the word Bob, and he looks quizzically at the woman behind the table.

She sees what he’s looking at and bursts out laughing. “Oh man, that’s a great story. I bought those up in Vermont from a woman who was clearing out her home. She’d seen my stuff on a website and reached out to me, she said she was ready to let them go, but wanted them to go to art, not to some collector. She told me that she grew up in Virginia in the 1940s, and she’d picked out a silver pattern, because that’s what nice young ladies did. For holidays, everyone in her family would give her silver, to build her hope chest, you know? And the tradition was that they’d engrave her monogram on that, but her brother didn’t like that, so he just engraved his own name.”

Harry smiles at her, eyes suspiciously bright. “I’ll take it.”

When he gets to the restaurant, he runs into Louis who is heading in the back door, and waits, holding it open for him, following him into the staff room.

“Hey, Harry,” he says. He looks a bit sad, and all of a sudden Harry is glad that he’s given into his generous impulses. Louis shouldn’t be sad on his birthday.

“Hey Lou, happy birthday.” Harry smiles. “How’s your day been so far?” He resists the urge to pull Louis into a hug, or worse, press a kiss to his head. They don’t do that anymore.

Louis shrugs, and stands awkwardly, hands jammed in the pockets of his skinny jeans as Harry pulls his uniform out and stuffs his packages into his locker. “S’okay. Had breakfast with Liam and Zayn, that was fun. Went to a meeting. Did some reading. Skyped with the fam, you know. Now I’m here.”

Harry shakes his head. “It’s going to be a busy night. It’s been a good day, weather-wise, and it’s Christmas Eve. It’ll be a short night though, and people around here tip well on holidays.” The bar and restaurant are closing early for the staff party, and suddenly Harry is excited. It’s rare he gets to socialize with his coworkers, and he likes them.

He reaches for his jeans button and suddenly feels awkward. Louis has seen him in every state of undress possible, they’ve been as intimate as two people can be, and then some, but suddenly he doesn’t want to change in front of him. “Um, I’ve got to get into my work uniform,” he says and Louis jumps from where he was apparently lost in thought, and turns bright red.

“Oh yeah, of course, I’ll just. Um, I’ll see you at the party after.” He hurries out the door into the restaurant, and Harry hears the other staff greeting him cheerfully.

Harry’s prediction comes true, it’s a very busy night, but people are tipping generously and overall, there’s a cheerful feeling in the restaurant. There’s also, however, a guy sitting at the countertop flirting with Harry, who is trying not to get irritated. The advantage of the open air kitchen is that he can talk to guests; the disadvantage is that guests can talk to him.

“So,” the guy says, taking a sip of his manhattan, “You don’t wear one of those…” he makes a gesture towards his head, spiraling up to the ceiling, “You know, chef’s hats?”

Harry has his back to the guy and rolls his eyes, but says pleasantly over his shoulder as he flips two burgers and checks the prime rib, “Nope, go for a more modern look myself.”

“Well,” the man all but purrs, “It certainly suits you.” A moist pink tongue darts out to wet his lips and Harry shudders a bit, turning back to his grill. “What time do you get off, anyway?”

“We’re closing at nine,” Harry says, sidestepping the question.

“Really,” Harry can hear the interest in the guy’s voice, “Want to go get a drink afterwards?”

Harry tosses him a superficial smile, “Sorry, man, no can do. We’ve got a staff party here, and it’s my friend’s birthday, so...busy.” He glances down at where the man is fiddling with his drink and sighs. There’s a clear untanned band marking the fourth finger of his left hand. “Just get back from vacation?”

The guy looks startled, “Oh yeah, we, um, I was in the Caribbean for a week. How did you guess?”

Harry indicates his hands with a nod. “Forgot to tan with your wedding ring off, bud.”

He turns back to his grill, and when he next looks around, the man is gone.

Finally, Niall ushers the last customers out at 9:15, flips the outside lights off and turns the lock.

Then he turns around and yells, “Clean up, clean up, the bar opens in 15!”

The lights go up, the music is switched out from the family friendly playlist Niall insists on during the dinner rush to something a bit hotter, and the staff hastily pushes through their clean up. The door from the staff room opens, and Harry waves as some of the day staff come in. Everyone pitches in, and within Niall’s 15-minute limit, everything is closed up and ready to go, except the bar, where Harry has set up a feast for his co-workers.

They’ve planned for this evening, is the thing. Harry and Niall have planned for this, and Harry’s spent the last three days prepping cold cuts and easily assembled hors d'oeuvres to counterbalance the booze that he knows will be flowing freely. He heads first to the staff room, where he changes into the party clothes he brought along, and then into the back kitchen, where he pulls out the baguettes that Niall has brought in fresh this afternoon, and sees the cake sitting in its container as well.

He piles the sliced bread into a few baskets and balances them on his left forearm and snags the cake container with his other hand, and heads out to the bar where the party is already in full swing.

They’ve pushed the chairs over to the side to create a makeshift dance floor, and turned the lights back down low. Niall’s strung brightly colored lights around the bar, which are twinkling and cheerful, and Harry can feel his skin tighten in anticipation as he steps into the room. Louis and Perrie are behind the bar. He’s in skinny jeans and a loose black t-shirt that scoops down at the neck and against his will, Harry feels his eyes drawn to Louis' collarbones, which were always one of his favorite parts of Louis' body. He glances up and catches Louis watching him with a small smile playing about his lips and rolls his eyes in return.

He sets out the bread baskets along the bar, interspersing them amongst the platters of food, and flips Louis off, drawing a surprised shout of laughter from him.

“What was that for?” Louis calls indignantly from behind the bar and Harry grins.

“You were thinking something, I’m sure.”

Louis wipes up a spill in front of him and says primly, “A man’s thoughts are sacred and private, Styles, you know that.”

“Yeah, well, see if I share any of this birthday cake with you,” Harry quips and Louis goes still.

“You…” He takes a deep breath and Harry can barely hear him over the thump of the bass, “You made me a cake, Harry?”

He nods, sets the cake on the bar in front of Louis. “I did.”

Their eyes catch and hold for a moment that seems both fleeting and monumental. It feels to Harry like when the storm is directly overhead and there is only a breath between lightning strike and thunder crack. It feels electric.

Harry says, “Happy birthday, Louis,” and then Perrie shouts “CAKE CAKE CAKE” and the moment is gone.

The staff crowds around the bar and Harry pulls out the Star Wars party goods that he’d gotten the week before, and moves back around the bar beside Louis to serve the cake. He offers Louis the knife but he just shakes his head and murmurs, “You know I’m terrible at cutting cake, Harry,” and Harry feels his heart begin to race.

“Do you want to learn?”

Louis looks confused and then Harry pulls him to stand in front of him, bodies not quite touching. Harry places the knife into Louis’ hand, and then wraps his own hand over Louis', ignoring his sudden, harsh, intake of breath. He moves their hands together, carefully slicing the oversized triple-layer cake into small portions. With his other hand, he efficiently slides in the cake server, depositing piece after piece onto the small plates until they’ve cut the whole thing.

He feels Louis press back against him for one brief, agonizing moment, and all of a sudden, all he wants to do is spin him around and kiss him the way they used to kiss, like lovers who know each other's bodies and mouths better than their own. Like they are still in love.

But they’re not in love anymore, so Harry steps back, mind reeling as he lets go of Louis’ hand and watches the knife drop out of it, clattering down onto the bar. That is, he thinks, the first time they’ve touched in well over three and a half years. He absently rubs the hand that was holding Louis’.

Louis bows his head, and Harry can see the jump in his throat as he swallows, visibly pulling himself together. Harry takes a step back and Louis looks up, meets his eyes.

“This looks amazing, Harry, thank you so much.” He turns to the crowd and yells, “Dig in!” as they all sing Happy Birthday, clashing horribly with the Beyonce currently blasting over the sound system. Harry grabs a piece of cake, and as he turns away to move out from behind the bar, Perrie catches his eye. She’s staring at him quizzically, and mouths, “What the fuck was that?”

Harry just shakes his head, moves into the crowd, and eats his cake.

Two hours later, Harry is 3 shots in, drinking prosecco straight from the bottle as he dances with Jesy. It’s hot in the bar, crowded with bodies moving to the music that hasn’t stopped. Niall had ousted Louis and Perrie from the bar about a half hour ago and is now mixing cocktails that look, frankly, downright dangerous, which Harry is avoiding, because Harry makes good choices.

“Good choices,” he yells to Perrie as he takes another swig of prosecco, “I’m making them!”

Perrie leans in and plants a kiss on his cheek and then wipes the lipstick off with her thumb. “Sure you are, Harry,” she says with a smirk, “Definitely!’

“I am!” Harry calls out, offended, and whips around to find himself pressed chest-to-chest with Louis on the crowded dance floor.

He stumbles a bit, spilling prosecco on the floor and frowns, turning to Louis to say, “I am offended, Lewis, deeply, deeply offended.”

Louis moves in a bit closer. “And why is that, Harold?” He’s holding a bottle of water, and throws his head back to drink deeply, and Harry is distracted by the long line of his throat as he swallows.

“Why what?” He takes a long drink from the bottle he’s holding, and catches Louis staring at him as he lowers it, and licks his lips reflexively.

“Why are you offended?

“Oh.” He frowns again and then remembers, “Perrie made fun of me! She doesn’t think I’m making good choices, but I am, Louis,” here he leans in earnestly and carefully places his hand on Louis' arm, feeling the heat of his sweaty skin beneath his fingertips. “I _am_ making good choices.”

“And what choices are those, Harry?” Harry thinks Louis sounds a bit breathless, but they’ve been dancing and the music is loud, so it’s hard to tell.

“Well,” Harry drinks more prosecco. “I didn't go out with that dickwad that tried to pick me up tonight.”

An indecipherable look crosses Louis’ face and Harry feels the muscles of his forearm tense under his hand, which is inexplicably still holding Louis, pulling him in closer to Harry.

“And who was that?” Louis' voice is a bit rough and Harry waits hopefully to see if he’ll do the head-tossing, water-swallowing thing again, but he does not.

“Oh, just some guy, wanted me to know my chef’s hat suited me.” Harry rolls his eyes, “Whatever, still had the the tan line on his ring finger from his family vacation last week, I bet he had his fucking wedding ring in his pocket, hitting on me while his wife’s out Christmas shopping or some such bullshit.”

“And that didn’t appeal to you?” Louis' tone is light but there’s something dark in his gaze, something that makes Harry’s heart stutter and catch, that makes him pull his hand from Louis’ arm and press it to his chest, thinking, _oh. Oh my._

He holds Louis' gaze and it’s like the rest of the world fades away for a moment as he says, “No, Louis, it did not appeal.”

Louis moves even closer, closing the gap between them as he leans into Harry’s space and whispers in his ear, “So, what does appeal to you these days, Harold?”

_Harry presses back against Louis who has him bent over the side of his desk and is apparently attempting to fuck him right through the wall into Niall and Jake’s room. It’s their one-year anniversary, and Harry is astonished at how, even after a year, Louis can reduce him to this, a trembling husk of a boy, begging for something that only Louis can give him._

_“More, more, more,” as he chants, he knows he’s not being quiet enough for communal living, but he really couldn’t care less in this moment, where they’re perfectly in sync, bodies striving for the same foregone conclusion._

_He shifts slightly and shouts, “Fuck, that’s it, baby, oh my god,” and then lets out a long, low moan as Louis redoubles his efforts._

_He can hear Louis muttering, as he often does when they’re fucking, “Shit, baby, look at you, so gorgeous for me, doing so good for me, my perfect boy, gonna come for me, Harry? C’mon for me, c’mon baby, fuck Harry, you gotta come for me, baby, I’m so fucking close,” and he takes one hand off the desk, wraps it around Harry’s straining dick, and it’s all over for Harry as he gasps and comes all over the side of desk, hoping vaguely he doesn’t have to reprint his essay for Epistemology tomorrow._

_He braces himself on his forearms as Louis thrust into him again and again, pressing back, urging him on in the best way he knows how, “C’mon Lou, come in me, baby, I love you so much,” and at that, Louis' rhythm stutters and he stills with a loud moan as he pours himself into Harry’s willing body._

_After he pulls out, and they’ve cleaned up a bit and are snuggled in Harry’s bed, Harry whispers, “I love you, Louis, so much, I can’t even...there aren’t words enough to tell you.”_

Harry jolts back to himself, not sure if he’s halfway hard from the memory of Louis fucking him or from the feel of Louis' body here and now, barely touching him as he continues to lean into Harry’s space. He catches a whiff of Louis' cologne, and blinks, it’s different, he doesn’t smell the same.

Louis is waiting patiently for his answer and he struggles to remember the question, all of a sudden the noise and the prosecco overwhelming his brain. Louis stares at him for another moment and then his expression shifts, and he says, “You okay? You want to get some air?”

Harry nods, and without thinking, slips his hand into Louis’ who tugs him through the crowd, out past the grill and into the staff room. He tosses Harry his coat from his locker and pulls on his own jacket, and grabbing Harry’s hand again, leads him out behind the restaurant into the quiet of the night, only dropping his hand when they’re in the back alley behind the restaurant.

Harry is somehow still holding onto his bottle of prosecco, which is close to empty now, most of it, Harry thinks mournfully, spilled out on the dance floor, so he tips it back and swallows the last mouthful, and then sets it down. He leans back against the brick wall of the restaurant and tips his eyes up to the sky. There’s too much light pollution this deep in the city, and he has a moment where he longs for the stars he cannot see from here. He realizes this is the first moment he’s been alone with Louis since their breakfast.

“You okay?” Louis moves in a bit closer, leans on the wall next to Harry. “You might want to slow down a bit on the fizzy, Harry.”

“Oh shit,” Harry gasps, “Fuck, Louis, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think. Oh god, did I make you uncomfortable?”

Louis’ laugh sets him at ease. “Harry, don’t worry about it. I know how to handle myself, c’mon. I’m a bartender, I’m used to seeing people a bit drunk.”

Harry opens his mouth to protest and then reconsiders. “Yeah, okay,” he concedes, “I should stop anyway, don’t want to be hungover for Christmas morning at home.”

He turns his head to look at Louis, who’s gazing up at the muted glow of the sky above them.

“Do you ever…” his voice trails off as Louis turns to meet his gaze. “Do you ever just get hit with, I don’t know, flashbacks? Of how it used to be?”

Louis turns away, looks back up at the unavailable stars, “All the time, Harry. All the fucking time.”

“I just,” Harry’s voice is pleading now, but if you’d asked, he couldn’t have told you what, exactly, it is that he is pleading for. Does he want Louis to leave him alone? Or to come even closer to him? It feels like all the barriers he’d placed between them are coming down, and he doesn’t know what to do.

He settles on, “My head’s a mess, Lou,” and smiles a bit at Louis’ snort and reply.

“Well, welcome to the club.”

Harry can feel the prosecco fizzing in his veins, and knows he’ll probably regret laying himself so bare tomorrow, but something about the haze of light around them, the cool air, the muffled sounds of the city in the distance make him want to spill over and just be honest. “It’s like, one moment I’m remembering how awful it was, that whole last year, and then I’m remembering how good, how _impossibly good_ it was between us, and, I, just, oh God, Louis. I’ve never found that with anyone since, and I miss it _so much.”_

They stare at each other for a long poignant moment, and then, Harry will never be sure who moves first, they surge towards each other, and Louis is in his arms and Harry is kissing him as if his life depends on it.

Louis is kissing him back and it takes them no time at all to fall into that familiar feeling as they cling to each other in the dark, mouths moving in perfect harmony.

After a moment, Louis pulls back far enough to reach up and cup Harry’s face, his fingers cold against Harry’s skin. All Harry can do is stare at him, breathing ragged, as he tries to process what has just occurred.

“What. What was that?”

“I’m sorry, shit. We shouldn’t have done that,” and Harry thinks Louis sounds genuinely regretful. “Harry. Fuck, there’s something I have to tell you, something you have to know.”

Harry is struggling to catch up, the kiss seems to have fizzled his brain a bit. It had felt both familiar and entirely new, and heaven help him, all he wants is to do it again. “What is it, Louis?”

“That day, in the cafe, you said that you got over me. You told me that you hadn’t waited, that I’d lost you. I understand that, Harry, I do. But it’s so hard to see you here, and I can’t help…” His voice trails off as he swallows.

“Can’t help what, Louis?”

“Can’t help...wanting more.”

The words ring between them in the dark.

Louis continues, “I didn’t think I could even hope that we could be friends again, Harry, and when it seemed like we could, I was so happy. So happy, you don’t even know. But I didn’t realize how hard it would be to be _just_ your friend.”

Harry is overwhelmed. “I don’t...I don’t know what to say. I need to think about this. Are you saying…” his voice trails off and then he continues, “Are you saying that you want to be together again? Like before?”

Louis replies simply, “Not exactly like before, but yes, Harry. I want that.”

Harry says again, “I need to think about this.” He opens his mouth and then shuts it, he’s had all the honesty he can handle for tonight, and he’s just too close to drunk to be making any decisions right now. As he pauses, the church bell tower starts ringing out for midnight, and before he overthinks it, he leans and presses one last kiss to Louis' lips, achingly gentle and sweet. He pulls back and whispers, “Happy birthday, Louis,” and turns to leave.

Louis reaches out to grab his arm, then stops himself, runs a frustrated hand through his hair.

Harry pauses at the door, doesn’t look back at Louis standing, watching him leave. “I’ll call you, okay? I have to go.”

He heads back into the staff room, and quickly gathers his shopping from the afternoon, and heads back into the party. Niall is now dancing shirtless on the bar top, swinging his rugby shirt around his head like a lasso. He catches Harry’s eye and yells, “Oi oi! Styles! Whatcha doing?!”

Harry tries to laugh and moves closer, calls up to him, “I’m done, man, I’m heading home. Don’t forget we’re leaving at 9 tomorrow.”

Niall tosses his shirt into the dancing crowd, and Harry sees Jesy snatch it up and tie it around her shoulders like a cape. Niall shoots finger guns at Harry with both hands and says, “I am _on it_ , Styles, got it all under control,” as he slips and pitches head-first off the bar. Thankfully Alex and Mikey catch him before he hits the ground, as Harry gives a small shriek of alarm. After confirming that Niall is, in fact, perfectly fine, Harry waves, and heads to the door. Louis is just coming in from the back, and they stop, and stare at each other.

Harry whispers again, “Happy Birthday, Louis,” and heads out the door, trying to pretend he’s not running away.

Harry wakes up Christmas morning with a headache and a bad attitude. He rolls over and buries his face in his pillow. He’d walked a bit, not arriving back at home until about 12:30, but he hadn’t been able to sleep, still lying awake thinking over what had happened with Louis, when Niall had stumbled in at 3:00. He’d gotten Niall sorted with water, ibuprofen and a waste basket, and had finally fallen asleep around 4:00.

His thoughts leap right back to the topic keeping him up last night: Louis’ revelation that he has feelings for Harry, and the kiss. That kiss. Harry has kissed Louis thousands of times over the years they were together, maybe even more, but last night’s kiss had shaken Harry to his core. He hasn’t had a kiss like that since he left Louis, if he’s being honest with himself, and he’s starting to worry about what that means. He’s told himself that he simply hasn’t met the right guy yet, but what if the problem is that he did meet the right guy when he was only 18 years old, and then lost him?

And now Louis is back in his life, wanting _him_ back, and Harry doesn’t know how to feel about that.

He grabs his phone and sees a series of texts from an unknown number, and realizes immediately they must be from Louis.

510-397-4257:   _Hey Harry, I hope it’s okay that I got your number from Niall. Sorry.  
_ _I’m not entirely sure what I wanted to say. If what I told you overwhelmed you, I’m sorry.  
_ _I hope we can talk? You can call me or text me whenever.  
_ _I’ll be back by 6 or so tonight.  
_ _Okay, I’ll stop blowing up your phone now. Xox_

Harry quickly saves the number to his contacts, flops back onto his side and sighs again. He’s never felt so torn about anything or anyone in his life. When he looks at Louis, he gets overwhelmed with memories, and while so many of them are wonderful, the bad memories are...really bad. It’s hard to forget the times Louis snarled at him, blew him off, came home drunk or high. By the end of it, he’d seemed determined to push Harry away, and he’d gotten meaner and meaner, and Harry had just...taken it, until finally, he couldn’t. He’s pretty sure Louis doesn’t even remember the worst of it, and he’s not sure he can find a way through unless they talk about it.

How is it possible to come back from that? Harry asks himself. Can he? Can they? Does he even want to? These are the questions burning in his brain. He yawns and stretches, then glances at the time and gives a yelp as he leaps out of bed, inner turmoil forgotten at the late hour and fear of his mother’s commentary if he’s late for Christmas breakfast.

Harry manages to get Niall out of bed and stuffs him into the shower. He’s bleary but doesn’t even seem to be sporting the headache that Harry is, which makes his own bad attitude even worse. By the time they get into the car, he’s silently fuming and Niall is shooting him concerned looks as he pulls out of their neighborhood and they start winding their way through the Cambridge streets to get out to Route 2.

There’s an uncomfortable silence and Niall finally says, “Okay, what.”

Harry leans his head against the passenger side window and prays for the ibuprofen to kick in soon. “What what,” he says finally, hearing the grumpiness in his voice.

“Well, you and Louis disappeared together, then you came back in looking shell-shocked, and left early and alone.” Harry blinks at him, amazed that Niall can remember the details with the state he’d been in. “And you’ve been a right asshole all morning, which really isn’t like you. So, what happened?”

Harry feels tears spring to his eyes at the kind tone Niall is offering. “I feel so messed up, Niall, I just don’t know what to do.”

“Well,” Niall says reasonably, “What do you have to do, and what are your options? I’m assuming that Louis let it drop that he’s still into you?” The casual way he says this has Harry’s jaw dropping.

“What? How did you know?”

Niall glances over. “Because he told me, Harry. Asked if he should switch his work schedule, or quit, because he was so sure you were completely over him. Apparently when you laid into him at the Someday, you were...convincing.”

“Fuck,” Harry groans. “The thing is, I meant it, Niall. I was over him. I had moved on.” Niall offers a polite cough of disbelief and Harry flips him off without looking at him. “Fuck off, it’d been years. I was happy with my work and school and you and our friends. “

“How long has it been since you went on a date, Harry?” Harry frowns, trying to think back.

“I went out with Allen a few times in the summer,” he says finally.

“Harry, that was last summer, not this past summer.”

“What?” Harry thinks back in shock and realizes that Niall is right, he hasn’t been out on a date since July of 2016.

“And how long has it been since you got laid? Like, with another person?” Niall inquires delicately.

Harry frowns even harder. “Umm, the spring before I was seeing Allen,” he admits. “When I was dating Jackson. Wasn’t very good either.”

“Why is it, do you think,” Niall asks quietly, “That you haven’t connected seriously with another guy since you’ve been out here, Harry? You’ve been out here three and a half years, and you haven’t had a serious relationship.”

“I’ve dated,” Harry states in an affronted tone. He starts listing them off on his fingers, “There were a couple of one night guys that first year when I was living on your couch and crying all the time, and then I started CSCA so I was busy, and then in the spring I dated Phillip, and then I graduated and was getting Mary’s off the ground with you, and then I went on a few dates with that guy your mom set me up with, what the hell was his name? And then I saw Jackson and then Allen, and…” His voice trails off as he ponders the fact that he’s not dated anyone longer than twelve weeks in the past three and half years.

Niall speeds up as they pull onto Route 2.

“I’ve known you a long time, Harry, since we were in preschool, and you’re my best friend, so I think it’s safe to say I know you pretty well. In high school, all you wanted was to fall in love and give someone your heart. And then, when we got to Cal, it was like, BAM, that was it for you. You met Louis and you never looked back.”

Niall pauses and then says, “Can I ask you something?”

Harry leans back and closes his eyes. “Of course, Ni, you can ask me anything.”

He wonders if Niall is going to ask him why he left, what happened to get him to that point, but he’s surprised when instead Niall says, “Why’d you stay?”

Harry’s eyes fly open and he turns to Niall. “What? What do you mean?”

“You’ve talked about how bad it was for that whole last year after we graduated, and I’m pretty sure you haven’t even told me the worst of it,” and here, a sad look crosses Niall’s face. “So, just...why did you stay so long?”

Harry frowns. He’s spent the last three and a half years feeling guilty for having left, and knowing what Louis had gone through afterwards has only intensified that feeling, but when he voices that to Niall, Niall shoots him the surprised eyebrows that suggest Harry may possibly be off-base in how he’s feeling.

He struggles to articulate it to Niall. “It’s just, things had always been so good between us. I mean, I knew he was having a hard time after we graduated, like he didn’t know what he wanted to do, and he put so much pressure on himself to know. It was weird, I was always the planner but I was okay with ‘let’s just get this dumpy little apartment and entry-level jobs and we’ll figure it out.’ But that stressed him out.”

“That place really was a dump,” Niall agrees as he passes some cars with out-of-state license plates that seem to think that a posted speed limit of 45 mph means going 45 mph.

“And then when Troy died, it was like he just...I don’t know, he just caved in on himself. Now I know he was already spiraling with too much weed and the drinking, but that just put him over the edge, I guess. They’d had a complex relationship, you know? And he never got that closure, or whatever you call it.”

“I guess I just wonder why you didn’t, I don’t know, get out sooner. I mean, that was the summer, right? And you didn’t leave for a year?”

Harry feels his defenses start to prickle when Niall continues. “Fuck, Harry, that makes it sound like I’m blaming you, and I’m not, you know I’m not. I just...you put up with a lot from him for a long time.”

Harry takes a deep breath and says, “Do you know why I finally decided to leave?”

Niall sighs. “I have an idea, yeah. But tell me, please, Harry. If you want to.”

Harry closes his eyes. “I left because he kicked me out.”

Niall is shocked into silence for a moment; this is not, apparently, what he was expecting to hear. “What?” He finally asks, “What are you talking about.”

_Harry sits at the kitchen table in their tiny Oakland apartment and stares at Louis pressed against the back door, who’s stumbled in at 4 am, again._

_“Where the hell were you? I’ve been texting you, out looking for you, I was so worried, Lou.” Harry knows his voice is too loud for shared walls, but this keeps happening, and he can’t keep swallowing his terror._

_Louis shrugs sullenly, eyes red-rimmed from whatever he’s been smoking, and Harry freezes._

_“Louis, this isn’t...this isn’t acceptable, you know that. I can’t keep doing this, I can’t be up all night worrying about you, no word from you.”_

_Louis brushes by him as he heads into the apartment, clearly ignoring Harry as he stumbles towards the bedroom._

_And Harry snaps. “Don’t you fucking turn your back on me like that.”_

_Louis stops, but he does not turn around. “What do you want me to say, Harry? Sorry? Okay.” His voice is hard, unyielding. “I’m sorry you were worried. No need to. I was out with Cal and Oli.”_

_“And it didn’t occur to you to, I don’t know, call and let me know that you weren’t coming home after work? That you were going out?”_

_Louis shrugs. “You’ve been pissed off at me for weeks, Harry. Months, even. Honestly, I didn’t think you’d care.”_

_It’s like a knife to the gut, and Harry actually staggers from the pain. “You. You can’t mean that, Louis.” His voice is pleading now. “You can’t believe that’s true.”_

_At that, Louis does turn and Harry is breathless, the look in Louis' eyes is something he’s never seen directed at him, not once. It’s flat, and it’s cold, and it’s indifferent to the devastation it’s leaving in its wake._

_“C’mon, babe, you know it’s true.” And then he says them, the words that will haunt Harry for months, the words that will ring in his ears as he cries himself to sleep, over and over and over again. “This isn’t working anymore.”_

_Harry gapes at the stranger staring back at him, because this isn’t Louis, this cannot be his Louis._

_“What,” he can barely get the words out, “What are you saying?”_

_“I’m saying,” Louis starts to turn away to move into their tiny bedroom. “This sucks, Harry. I don’t want to do this anymore.”_

_“You don’t want to do what anymore?”_

_“Us,” Louis says, his tone not changing. “I don’t want to be with you anymore.”_

_And right in that moment, Harry feels his heart crack in the middle of his chest. He cannot believe this is happening. He can’t understand it. He moves towards Louis, and puts a hand on his arm, which Louis impatiently throws off._

_“I’m going to bed, Harry. I’m tired.”_

_Without thinking, Harry moves to block his way into the bedroom. “We need to talk about this now, Louis. Are you saying you want to break up?” His heart, his poor, broken heart is somehow still beating, tearing through his chest in his panic._

_“Get out of the way.” Louis' voice is flat, implacable. “I want to go to bed.”_

_“No,” Harry stands his ground._

_Louis raises his voice. “Get. Out. Of. The. Way.”_

_“NO,” Harry shouts, “Louis, I love you, don’t do this to us, don’t do this.” He can feel the tears streaming down his face. “Please, Lou, baby.”_

_Louis' hands are on his shoulders and for one impossibly brief moment Harry thinks that it will be okay, that Louis is pulling him in for a hug, but then, in horror he realizes, no, Louis is shoving him out of the doorway to get by him. Harry stumbles, hits the couch, goes down to his knees, sobbing._

_In the bedroom, he hears Louis moving around, and then, in shock, realizes that he’s turned off the light and gone to bed._

_Harry doesn’t sleep that night, sits up texting Niall and his mother. He tells them that he and Louis are through, that he can’t stay, though he doesn’t tell them why. In the morning, he tells Louis that he’s leaving for Boston on Friday, that he won’t be back. That they’re over._

_The only thing Louis says is, “Do what you have to do, Harry.” And when Louis drops him off curbside at the airport, they don’t say goodbye._

There is silence in the car when Harry stops speaking, exhausted at the memory that he’s never spoken of to anyone, ever.

There is another beat, and then “That fucking mother _fucker_.” Niall’s tone is low, hard, and the angriest Harry’s ever heard him.

Shocked, Harry says, “Niall, no.”

“No _what_ , Harry?” Niall asks, knuckles going white as he clenches the steering wheel. “He put his hands on you, Harry, that is.” He chokes, unable to continue for a moment. “Was that the only time? Did he hit you?”

Harry stares at him in horror. “No, god, _no_. He was so drunk that night. He didn’t know what he was doing. And here’s the thing,” and here his voice cracks as he finally shares his secret shame.

“I knew, Niall, I knew he was out of control and spiraling down, and I just didn’t know how to confront him, I didn’t know what to do. So I just...let him do it. I looked away, I cleaned up after him when he broke things, or puked in the bed. I just thought if I loved him enough, that it would _be enough_ , you know? But it wasn’t. Now I can’t help but think that if I’d done something, said something, _anything_ , earlier, maybe he could have gotten help and maybe we could have been okay. I’ve been blaming him this whole time, but it’s my fault too.”

Niall is listening, Harry can tell, as he navigates the Rte 2 rotary and takes them further west.

“Harry, the thing is...you hold on, you always have.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re the most loyal person I’ve ever known. You still send a holiday card to Andrew James, and he moved away in 5th grade, Harry. You’ve worn that same fucking Packers sweatshirt since you were 15, and we live in New England. You get the same thing at Dunks every time you go, and you have since middle school. Once you decide on something, you hold on, tight.”

Hurt, Harry says, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Oh, Harry,” Niall flashes him a gentle smile as they pull up to a red light. “Harry, it’s an amazing thing about you, I think it’s one of your greatest strengths, really. But it gets you in trouble, too. Sometimes you have to let go, Harry. Sometimes, the best thing you can do _for you_ is to walk away. And you’ve never really been very good at that. Not once you’ve really committed to something. Or someone.”

Harry tilts his head back until it thumps against the headrest of his seat. “When did you get so wise, Niall,” he finally grumbles, because, well. Niall’s not wrong, is the thing.

He catches Niall’s shrug out of the corner of his eye. “Dunno, man. But the real question is, what are you going to do about Louis?”

Harry sighs and closes his eyes. “I don’t know. I think we need to talk again. I don’t think I can figure out a way forward on my own. I wish we could just go back to before this happened, and make it like it never did.”

Niall’s voice is quiet as he asks, “Are you going to tell him? About that last fight?”

“I don’t know, Niall, I just don’t know.”

Harry is able to put aside everything he’s thinking and enjoy Christmas Day with his family. He thinks he’s fooled them all until later that afternoon, about an hour before Niall is supposed to pick him up to head back into the city, when his mother pulls him into the kitchen, shoves him into a chair, slams a cup of hot chocolate generously laced with peppermint schnapps in front of him, and says, as she sits down opposite him at the familiar kitchen table, “ _Talk_.”

Harry sips the drink and feels his eyes cross. “Jesus, Mom, how much schnapps did you put in this?”

She waves his question aside with an indifferent hand. “Enough. Now, talk to me, kiddo.”

Harry sips again and raises one eyebrow. “What makes you think there’s something to talk about.”

“Oh please,” Anne rolls her eyes at him. “You’ve got bags under your eyes, your sweater is on inside-out, you’ve been checking your phone every 30 seconds since you got here, even the puppy didn’t make you laugh, and you keep sighing. Something is going on. Tell me what it is.”

Her voice softens as she places one hand over Harry’s, and even though he’s been bigger than her since he was 14, he still feels comforted by the touch of his mother's hand.

“Okay, but you have to promise that you’ll just listen and not get mad at me and tell me I’m making a stupid choice.”

Anne nods and says, “Okay. I’ll do my best.”

Harry takes a deep breath and feels like a child again, about to confess some petty crime to his mother who already knows what he’s done, though this time, he’s pretty sure, she's going to be surprised by what he's about to say. “It’s Louis, Mom.”

Anne’s eyes widen and she starts to speak, then stops herself, and just waves at him to go on.  
  
“He, um, he’s actually living in Somerville now. He’s going to Law School at Harvard and he’s doing so well. And,” here Harry cringes because he knows his mother has a tendency to be a bit protective of him. “He’s working at Mary’s with me.”

“What?” His mother’s voice is so loud that Gemma comes into the room at a fast pace.

“Ooo, did you get him to talk? What’s going on?”

Anne purses her lips. “It’s Louis. He’s living in Somerville now. Apparently he’s back in Harry’s life.”

Harry protests, “He’s not, like, back in my life, Mom, not like that. He’s just, you know. Around.”

“Really?” Gemma asks, and looks at him more closely. “But you’re thinking about it, aren’t you.”

Harry curses the Styles genes that seem to travel down the female line, giving them sharp wit and even sharper intuition. “I don’t know. We’ve talked. He had a rough time after I left.”

“He’s not the only one,” Anne mutters with a dour face, and Harry really can’t blame her. Niall had brought him home right after the break up, and he’d spent two weeks straight pretty much just lying in his childhood bed crying.

“No, Mom, I mean. He got into some trouble. But he’s worked really hard and gotten himself together. More than together, he’s doing amazing. It’s like, he’s grown up or something, I don’t know.”

Anne takes a deep breath. “I have to keep reminding myself, Harry, that you _are_ an adult and you make your own choices, but please don’t forget what he did to you. He took you to pieces, baby, and he let you leave like that. I’m not sure I understand how you can forgive him.”

“I’m not sure I have, all the way,” Harry says honestly. “I know there’s more there for us to talk about. But I see who he is now, and…” his voice trails off for a moment. “It’s like he is so much like he used to be, but there’s even more amazing stuff about him now.”

“Uh oh,” Gemma says, “Harry. Please. You need to be careful. Think about what you really want.”

And here Harry’s stubborn side kicks in. “I am thinking about that. I’m not just, I don’t know, blind about this. Believe me, I know better than you guys what went down between us. But,” and here his voice turns pleading, “That was a long time ago, and maybe we can start over, from here, you know?”

Anne sighs, “It sounds to me like you’re really seriously thinking about getting back together with him.”

And in that moment, Harry realizes, he is. Because, “Mom, he’s the only man I’ve ever loved. I’m not sure I _can_ love anyone else the way I loved him, and no one has ever loved me better, at least, not while it was good.”

“No one’s ever hurt you that badly either, Harry,” his mother reminds him gently.

“I know. But when it was good, it was really good. I know we were young, but it was true love, Mom. It was real. And maybe, it could be that way again.”

“Kintsugi,” says Greg from the doorway, where he’s holding the squirming puppy.

All three heads in the kitchen whip around to look at him.

“What?” asks Gemma, getting up to grab the pup and give him a kiss.

“Kintsugi, it’s a traditional Japanese art form. When a piece of pottery was broken, they’d repair it with gold, to make something beautiful out of the broken pieces.” He shrugs. “Sounds like what Harry’s talking about.”

*****

On the ride back to Somerville, Harry is quiet, listening to the folk music Niall has playing on the radio, singing along to some of the more familiar tunes. When they pull onto their street, it’s only 6:00 but already dark, and it’s colder today. They get out of the car, hauling up their respective pile of gifts from their families.

Niall flips on lights and Harry gets the kettle boiling for tea and sets out the cookies his mother sent home with him. He hasn’t replied to Louis' texts all day, and feels an itchy sense under his skin that he wants to scratch. He wants to do _something_. Wants to see if they can possibly make something new out of the wreckage of their relationship, transform the shards back into something whole. Something beautiful.

“Do you think it would be crazy if I got back with Louis?” He asks Niall abruptly.

Niall plops down at the kitchen table. “I don’t know, is that what you want?”

“I don’t know what I want.” Harry slides his eyes sideways at Niall, “Well, I do really want to kiss him again.”

“I knew it!” Niall crows as he grabs a chocolate chip cookie. “I knew you all did _something_ out there in the back!”

“It was just a kiss,” Harry says, feeling the grin spreading uninvited across his face.

“Harry,” Niall’s voice turns serious. “Do you think you can trust him? After what happened?”

“I don’t know.” Harry replies slowly, “I want to.”

“Can you forgive him? For putting his hands on you like that? For all the other ways he hurt you?”

“I don’t know,” Harry says slowly, “I think I need to talk to him first, see what he says. But yes, I think I can.” Decision made, he grabs his phone and taps out a quick text.

“Oh Harry. What are you doing?” Niall’s tone is laughing and suspicious at the same time, and Harry knows he already knows.

“I do think we need to talk that last bit out, and then...I don’t know. Then we’ll see where we are.”

His phone chimes with an incoming text.

LouisT: _36 Banks Street #2_


	3. Chapter 3

**DECEMBER 2017 (continued)**

When Harry googles the address, he’s shocked at how close he and Louis have been living. It’s cold out, but not cold enough to chance losing his parking space, so he pulls on his winter gear, wraps his scarf firmly around his neck, and sticks his head into Niall’s room, where he’s lying on his bed, reading.

“I’m heading over to Louis’ to talk.”

Niall doesn’t look up from his book, just gives a knowing smile. “I won’t wait up, sugar.”

Harry heads down the stairs, trying to suppress the flutter of anticipation in his stomach. It only gets stronger as he approaches Louis’ building. It’s a cheerful blue and yellow, and Harry counts six doorbells as he looks for the one labeled Tomlinson. He buzzes it, and hears the lock click open.

“Down here,” he hears Louis calling, and sees him waving from a doorway down the hall. Louis smiles when he sees him.

“Hey, Harry,” he says, “Merry Christmas.”

Harry feels suddenly awkward as he approaches. Should he kiss Louis? Hug him? He sees an answering flash of nervousness on Louis' face and they settle for an uncomfortable bro-hug before Louis ushers Harry into his apartment, taking his coat and hat from him as he does.

It’s small and clearly decorated almost entirely from Ikea, but it’s so Louis that Harry feels his heart break just a little. There’s a short entry hall with a coat closet that opens into the living room, with a small galley kitchen off to the right. There’s a hallway disappearing to the back of the apartment, and Harry is a bit surprised that Louis can afford a one bedroom by himself.

“No roommates?” He inquires as he settles himself onto the couch.

“No,” Louis shakes his head. “I really wanted to live by myself, with all the studying I’m doing. I do better with music on, so working at the library isn’t my first choice, but I do need it quiet otherwise. I’ve got a deal with the landlord, I help out around the building, and he took enough off my rent to make it doable.”

“Nice,” Harry nods. “I love it, it’s very...you.” There’s a desk with a closed laptop and a pile of law texts, bookshelves crammed with paperbacks, and several lovely framed prints that make Harry’s eyes widen.

“Are those…” he whispers, “Are those mine, Lou?”

Louis nods. “I managed to save a few things.”

_It’s Thursday night, and Harry has a 6am flight the next morning. He’s been crying off and on all day, trying to pack up his things, trying to decide what to bring with him and what to leave behind. As he looks around the small, ugly apartment, he feels his heart shatter even more. How can this be happening? How can they have ended up like this? Louis’ not been there all day, Harry has no idea where he is, what he’s doing._

_He hears the back door open, and Louis comes in. He steps into the living room, sees the suitcases sitting open. Harry looks up at him from where he’s sitting on the floor amidst the wreckage of their life together and sees the muscle in Louis' jaw jump as he clenches his teeth, but he doesn’t say a word._

_Harry suppresses a flash of anger and calls out. “What do you want me to do with all this stuff?”_

_Louis doesn’t even bother coming out from the bedroom. “Take what you want. Leave the rest. It doesn’t matter.”_

_And with his cold words and flat tone, the last of Harry’s hope dies. He didn’t know it was possible to hurt this much and still be breathing. He looks down, almost expecting to see a gaping wound where his heart used to be, but there’s nothing visible. No outward sign of what’s happening within him._

_“What about the photographs I took?” He can’t believe the voice coming from him. He’s never used that tone towards Louis, not once, ever._

_“I don’t care,” Louis says impatiently. “Do what you want. I’m going to bed.”_

_And with that, Harry sits still. He doesn’t bother packing more than his clothes and a few books. There’s nothing left for him here, nothing left to salvage. All that’s left to him now is to begin again, 3,000 miles away. He’ll start over in Boston._

“I can’t believe you have those.” He stares at the photographs from across the room.

“They were.” Louis pauses and clears his throat. “They _are_ important to me. Anyway.” He takes a deep breath, his hands clasped tightly in front of him, “Can I get you a drink? I’ve got tea, juice…” As Harry shakes his head, Louis’ voice trails off. “I guess I wasn’t expecting to hear from you today.”

Harry glances down and wishes he’d said yes to a drink, it would give him something to do with his hands.

“So.” He says finally, wondering where to start. “I’ve been thinking a lot about last night. What you said.”

Louis nods, sinks onto the couch next to Harry and curls up, turning to face him. The lights are low, and his face is only thoughtful in the dim light.

“What are you thinking?”

“Well.” Harry takes a deep breath. “There’s a thing I think we need to talk about. A couple of things maybe.” He doesn’t realize he’s wringing his hands in his lap until Louis reaches over, lays one hand on top of his and they still. Louis’ hand is warm and strong, and Harry wants to thread his fingers through Louis', hold on tight, never let go.

As he looks down at their clasped hands, he huffs out a gasp of laughter.

Louis gives him a quizzical look and Harry says, “I remember reading a couple of years ago, that the cells in your body regenerate every seven years, and my first thought was, ‘that means someday there won’t be any place on my body that Louis’ touched.’”

Louis squeezes his hand. “How did that make you feel?”

Not meeting his eyes, Harry says, “Sad. It made me sad.”

Louis says softly, “I guess we’ve reset the clock then, huh?”

Harry shakes his head. “It turns out that it’s not completely true, because your brain, those neurons, they’re permanent. So no matter how often my skin cells renew, you’ll always be here,” and he lifts his hand to touch his temple.

“And how does that make you feel?” Louis whispers as Harry’s hand comes up, almost of its own accord, to trace down the familiar line of his jaw to his throat, where Harry can feel Louis’ pulse hammering under his thumb.

He whispers as he leans in, “It made me feel glad,” but before he can close the distance between them, Louis raises a hand and places it on his chest.

“I thought you wanted to talk,” he says, his voice hoarse.

Harry pauses. In some ways, there’s nothing he wants less than to talk, again, to open up old wounds and rehash the damage Louis did, his own missteps and failures. But there’s no way, he realizes, no way he can move forward until they put the past to rest. Sighing, he sits back, but doesn’t let go of Louis' hand.

“Fuck, I really don’t want to. I’m getting so tired of this shit.”

Louis gives him a small smile. “Gary used to tell me that that was a good sign, when you’re bored with the shit you’re dealing with, it’s time for it to be done.”

“It’s just, I’m scared,” Harry whispers. “What if it all goes wrong again? I loved you so much, Louis, so fucking much. Niall told me I hold on too long, and I wonder if maybe I did with you. I screwed so many things up, and I can’t help thinking, if I’d confronted you when I first saw things were getting out of control, maybe it could have been different.”

And here’s where there’s a stark contrast between the old Louis and the new one. In the past, any time Harry had admitted a weakness or insecurity, Louis would push back, kiss him senseless, or tell him he was being ridiculous, that there was nothing to worry about. And then, in the end, of course, he’d turned cold and mocking, had confirmed every fear. But this Louis does none of those things.

He simply listens for a long moment and then says, “Here’s the thing, Harry.” Inexplicably, he laughs and Harry knows he looks confused.

“Sorry,” Louis says, still chuckling a bit, “That’s what my therapist would always say right before she laid down some truth on me, and all of a sudden I heard her voice so clearly in my head. Anyway, here’s the thing. I don’t know if it could have been different, if you’d made different choices. I certainly could have. But we didn’t, Harry. We didn’t make those choices. And we can’t go back and change the past, no matter how much I wish I could. All we can do is learn from it, and move forward, right?”

Harry nods, trying to take in what Louis is saying. “So, you mean, if things get hard again, maybe this time we’ll make different choices?”

Louis nods. “Well, I don’t have control over you, of course, but I’ve done a whole lot of work on myself for just that reason. Because I had to make different choices. It sounds a bit dramatic to say I had to, to save my life, but Gary and I both think that’s actually true,” and at that, Harry’s heart breaks.

“I’m so sorry, Louis,” he whispers, “I am so sorry I failed you.”

“Oh Harry, baby.” Louis leans in to wipe away the tear that’s trailing down his cheek. “No, no, you didn’t fail me. You never, ever failed me. I failed you, I know that I did, and I’d give anything to make it better.”

Harry shakes his head. “I could have pushed harder, not turned away. So many nights, I knew how wasted you were, I knew how it wasn’t right, and then that last night...”

Louis stills. “I know I was drunk, Harry, and I know I said such ugly things to you. I don’t even remember what happened that night, but I knew I’d done something awful from the way you looked at me the next morning, when you told me it was over.”

Harry sighs, wishing they didn’t have to do this, knowing they do.

“Louis, I didn’t break up with you that morning. You’d already broken up with me the night before.”

Louis stares at him shock. “What? I did what?”

“And,” here Harry pauses, not sure how to continue.

“What, Harry. You have to tell me.”

“You shoved me,” Harry whispers. “You told me you didn’t want to be with me anymore, and when I blocked the doorway to the bedroom, you grabbed me and shoved me out of the way.”

Louis has gone pale and still, staring at Harry in horror.

“Did I…” His voice is strangled, “Did I hurt you?”

“N-no, not really. I just kind of fell into the couch. I shouldn’t have blocked the doorway like that.”

“No.” Louis holds up a hand between them, then rolls away from Harry and sits up, back to him. “What did I say? Do you remember?”

Harry nods. “You just said that it sucked, and that you didn’t want to do it anymore, and when I asked you what you meant, you said, ‘Us. I don’t want to be with you anymore.’”

Louis has buried his face in his hands and when Harry tentatively places a hand on his shoulder, he jolts to standing, moving away. His fists are clenched by his sides, and Harry can read the tension radiating off of him.

He stands. “Louis.” He stops, helpless, not knowing what to say. “Maybe I should go.”

At that, Louis turns, staring at him. “You do that a lot, you know?” His voice isn’t angry, but it’s not calm either, and once again, Harry is struck by the sense that this man that he used to be able to read like a book is now almost indecipherable to him.

“Do what?”

“When it gets hard, or upsetting, or whatever. You back off. You leave.”

Harry frowns, opens his mouth to protest, and then stops, considering. “You...might have a point there, Louis. I’ve never been very good at confrontation.”

They stare at each other for a moment, and then Louis says, “I used to want you to fight back, you know? When I was drinking. I knew I was being such a prick to you, and you just took it, all the time.”

He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “Jesus, Harry, I don’t even know how to begin making it up to you, what I put you through, and then, hearing that I put my hands on you in anger, that I’m someone who could do that. How do I apologize for that? I never, _ever_ wanted to be that person.”

The anguish in his voice is clear, but suddenly, Harry’s answer is clear to him too. “Louis. We both made mistakes, we both screwed up, for different reasons maybe, but. Jesus, look at how hard you’ve worked to pull yourself out of that place. You want to know how to apologize? It’s easy, Lou. All you have to do is say, ‘I’m sorry.’”

Louis stands frozen for a moment, absolutely rigid. When he turns to face Harry, his eyes are wet. “Harry, I am _so sorry_. So, so sorry that I did that to you. That I was out of my mind fucked up is no excuse, I know. I should never have done that.”

Harry smiles, and hopes that what he’s feeling is clear on his face as he says plainly, “Louis, I accept your apology. I forgive you.”

He does not expect Louis to crumble, but that’s exactly what happens, and all of a sudden, Harry is holding Louis as he sobs into his shoulder. He doesn’t know what else to do, simply holds him, trying to pour everything he has inside of him into the embrace as he gently rubs Louis’ shaking back.

After several minutes, Louis finally calms, until he’s standing quietly in the circle of Harry’s arms, his breath hitching in the aftermath of the storm.

“C’mon,” Harry says gently, and leads Louis over to the couch where they settle in, Harry’s arms still wrapped around Louis.

“Christ,” Louis takes a shuddering breath, his voice scratchy and raw, “I don’t even know what the fuck that was, Harry. I just, God,” his voice cracks, “I’ve just missed you _so much.”_

Harry tightens his hold and whispers, “Me too. I didn’t even know how much.”

“I don’t,” and here Louis twists around in his embrace so that they’re face to face, “I just don’t even understand why you’re giving me another chance, Harry. I mean, I don’t think I would, if the positions were reversed.”

Harry pauses. “I didn’t go to therapy or do anything like what you did, Lou. But when I moved here, I was...it was really hard, and I spent a lot of time thinking about what happened, what went wrong, and I realized some things. I realized that I let things go on way too long when they were bad, because I was so scared. I don’t fight, you know that. Like, that’s just not how we did it in my family. If you got mad, you got sent to your room to think about what you’d done, and then we never, ever talked about it, so I never figured out how to do it, how to talk about the hard stuff. I never really learned that relationships can last beyond those schisms, that you can work through them.”

“That...makes a lot of sense, actually,” Louis says thoughtfully. “I never knew that.”

Harry shrugs, “And then, I guess the other big thing I learned is,” he stops, trying to figure out how to put it into words. “So, like, I spent months and months just being so sad,” and at his words, Louis' arms tighten around him. “I literally slept on Niall’s couch, lived out of my suitcase, worked shit temp jobs, and then one day when I was on the red line, when I saw the advert for CSCA, it just hit me. _You get what you settle for.”_

Louis nods, looking intrigued. “Tell me more?”

“You get what you settle for in life. I mean, yeah, there are always constraints, there’s outside forces that impact you, but I spent a long time feeling like I had no choice in what was happening to me, no choice with you, no choice with work, any of it. I settled for not good with you when I should have pushed, I should have said ‘this is not acceptable’ _months_ before I finally did. I should have gotten off of Niall’s couch _months_ before I did. But in that moment, I don’t even know what sparked it, it occurred to me that I was settling. And...I decided not to settle any more. Ever. So that night, I applied to culinary school and told Niall that I wanted us to get a bigger place.”

Though he feels a bit awkward saying it to Louis, it’s also why he hasn’t dated anyone longer than 3 months since he and Louis split, because he’s decided he’s never settling in love again either.

“But Harry, do you think you’re…” Louis takes a deep breath, “Do you think maybe you’re settling with me?”

Harry shakes his head firmly. “No. No, I really don’t. I’ve gotten to know you again in these last couple of months, and I just, who you are is amazing to me, Louis. It’s what I said to my mom, that you’re still _you,_ but you’ve also grown in so many ways.”

Louis gives a small smirk. “You told your mom about me?” His expression changes and he adds quietly, “Um, no, for real though, what did she say?”

Harry shrugs, exhausted. “She’s wary, I guess. I didn’t tell her any of the details of course,”

“You can,” Louis says instantly, “You can tell her anything you need to.”

Harry shrugs. “It’s not her life, though. It’s mine. She’s just protective of me, you know? She saw how hurt I was. No,” this is to the look that crosses Louis' face, “No. Look, it’s a part of our past, but we’ve talked it out, right? Isn’t that what closure looks like? Can’t we stop feeling so guilty, and just…” He runs a frustrated hand through his hair, “Can’t we move forward?”

Louis takes a deep breath and then asks him simply, “What does that mean for you, Harry? I know what I want, but...what do _you_ want?”

Harry pauses to really think his answer through, because it matters. Because he knows that this man, the man Louis has become, will listen to him and will respect whatever he decides. This man has been brave and put himself out there, asking for what he wants.

“I want,” he says, softly at first, but then conviction strengthens his voice, “I want to get to know you again, I want to spend time with you, I want to see how you’ve changed and how you’re the same. What makes you laugh. What makes you think. I want to hear all about your family, and your life while we were apart, and your work and school, and just...everything, I think, Louis. I think I want everything.”

Louis’ tear-damp eyes are shining as he looks carefully at Harry. “Do you want to spend the night here?”

Harry freezes and Louis says quickly, “Just to sleep. I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted. I’d like to have some tea, watch some stupid tv with you, and then just...go to sleep. With you.”

Harry takes a deep breath and says, “That...sounds really good.”

So that’s what they do. Louis makes tea while Harry texts Niall to let him know that he won’t be home, and then they watch some HGTV, just curled up together on the couch, and it’s...nice, is the thing. Harry marvels at how easy it is, spending time with Louis like this.

When Louis flips the tv off, he pulls Harry to standing. “C’mon, I’ve got some more comfortable clothes you can sleep in, skinny jeans aren’t great for that.”

Harry laughs, “True, though they’re good for other things.”

Louis quirks one eyebrow as if to say, _oh really,_ and simply says, “C’mon, Styles.”

Louis takes first shift in the bathroom after handing Harry some basketball shorts and t-shirt, and Harry strips down. He has a heated internal debate as to whether or not to keep his underpants on, and finally decides to throw caution to the winds and take them off. It’ll be more comfortable that way, he assures himself, that’s all it is.

Louis comes out of the small ensuite and says, “Help yourself to anything you need. I set out a toothbrush for you.”

Harry nods and heads into the bathroom. It’s typical for one of these old buildings, meaning he has to stand in the shower to close the door, but he imagines Louis appreciates having two bathrooms when he’s got guests over. He washes his face and brushes his teeth, feeling a pang at the fact that Louis uses the same brand of toothpaste that he always did. And then, taking a deep breath, he heads back out into the bedroom, taking in his surroundings.

It’s a simple room, clearly meant to be a haven from the outside world. He’s got a queen-sized bed with a simple, slatted wooden frame and matching bedside tables, with large drawers underneath for storage. There’s both a wardrobe and a dresser, as there’s no closet in the room. There’s yet another bookshelf, this one also stocked with well-worn paperbacks. The walls are a lovely deep sage green, and there are three beautiful, whimsical prints framed and hung above the bed. The cheerful patchwork quilt on the bed is folded back, showing coordinating sheets with a muted stripe, and the whole feel of the room is warm and cozy.

Louis is sitting in bed already, and Harry notes that he’s on the right side of the bed, which was always his side. He’s turned off the overhead lights, and the room is dim in the light of the one bedside lamp that’s on. He’s propped up on pillows, reading, and he’s…

“Glasses,” Harry chokes out, “You’re wearing glasses.”

Louis looks up in surprise. “Oh yeah, a couple of years ago, I started to get headaches when I was reading, turns out I needed reading glasses.”

“I,” Harry coughs and Louis looks amused because Harry has not once ever been able to fool him, “I like them. Yeah.” He flushes and slips between the cool sheets next to Louis, suddenly feeling all clumsy and long-limbed. There’s no light on “his” side of the bed, so he slides down onto the pillow, and turns to watch Louis, who is placing a marker in his book, and setting it and his glasses off to the side. He indicates the light.

“You ready?”

Harry nods, and Louis flips off the light and the room is plunged into darkness. Harry feels Louis slide down next to him, and it hits him, how strange this should feel, and yet, how natural it actually does. He smiles into the darkness, feeling sleep already tugging at his eyelids.

“Good night, Louis,” he whispers into the dark and for the first time in so, so long, a voice comes back to him.

“Good night, Harry.”

In the morning, Harry wakes slowly, confused by the sun coming in the window from the wrong direction. His eyes fly open as he realizes two things: 1. he’s in Louis' bed, and 2. the man himself is curled around him like a cat, warm and rumpled, unbearably soft in the morning light, except for his raging hard-on which is currently pressing insistently into Harry’s hip. Harry tries to get his brain to wake up enough to figure out what to do.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to do... _things_ with Louis. He does. He really, really does. But he also wants...to wait, he thinks. When things were good, their sex life was incredible (not, at that point, that Harry had had much to compare it to). Now that he does have some comparison, he’s even more aware of how amazing it was, especially given that they were each other’s firsts in almost every way possible. It’s not that he doesn’t want to. But for now, he thinks it feels like it might be too much, too soon.

He sighs, and manages to wiggle himself a bit away from Louis, who frowns in his sleep and rolls over. The covers have slipped down and his shirt has ridden up a bit, and Harry indulges himself in a moment of just _looking_ at the strong lines of Louis' back, the jut of his hipbone, the curve of his ass. He does not attempt a peek at the front of Louis, which would just be creepy, he assures himself, no matter what sort of agreement they’ve come to last night.

“Shhhh,” Louis grumbles sleepily, “I can hear you thinking from here, Styles. Go back to sleep.” And Harry, to his surprise, does.

When they get up later, it’s surprisingly not awkward at all. Louis talks Harry into cooking him pancakes, and they drink coffee at the counter while they eat and just...talk.

“What are you up to today?” Louis asks, taking a sip of his coffee.

Harry frowns, thinking over his agenda. “Work tonight, that’s about it. Classes don’t start for another couple of weeks, so I’m pretty free these days. I’ve got some stuff to do around the apartment, cleaning, laundry, all that.” He makes a face. He loves having a clean and tidy home, but he doesn’t particularly enjoy the work. “You?”

“Not a lot,” Louis shrugs. “I’ve got reading, was going to go for a walk, that’s about it. I’m early tonight, so I’m on at 4.”

Harry takes a deep breath. “Do you want to meet up at Panera for food before work? I’m on at 4 too.”

Louis smiles into his coffee and says, “That sounds great, Harry.”

*****

Unlike Christmas Eve, when the restaurant closed early, New Year’s Eve is one of their major money makers. The bar stays open until 2, and Harry loves the energy. The place is packed, he’s sweating through his chef’s coat, and he can’t keep the grin off his face. The music is loud, and as soon as he’s done closing, he’s going to join the crowd in the other room. He’s shimmying a bit to the music as he flips his last order, making Mikey laugh at him, when he hears a voice say his name.

“Harry. Hey!” He turns to find Allen, the guy he’d, well, dated was probably too strong a statement, the guy he’d hung out with summer of 2016 standing by the counter smiling at him.

“Hey!” Harry waves, turns back to his grill and calls out, “Allen, how are you? It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, I actually just got back from 9 months in Italy, it was amazing.”

“Oh wow, that sounds incredible, what were you doing?” Harry searches his memory for what it was that Allen actually did. Something in software? Engineering?

“My company has an office over there and they offered me the opportunity, so of course I had to take it. How’ve you been? Still manning the grill, I see?” Ah yes, Harry remembers now, one of the reasons he’d broken it off with Allen was the way he talked about Harry’s career, as if it were a bit beneath him.

Harry checks on the burgers, and pulls them off to plate them on the setups he’s got waiting. He reviews the orders, adds fresh fries, and calls to Jesy, “Order up, babe!” She grabs them with a grin and disappears back into the mass of bodies.

He swipes his sweaty brow with his arm and says, “Oh yeah. I’m back in school now though.”

At that, Allen smiles, “That’s great, Harry. You know I always thought a mind like yours was wasted on cooking. What are you doing? Philosophy again?”

Harry grins, “Nope, pastry chef.”

“Oh.” Allen is silent for a moment. “Listen, are you off soon? I was going to head into the bar, grab a drink, I’d love to catch up more.”

Harry glances at the clock. “Yeah, I should be done here in about 20 or so. I’ve gotta clean up, get changed. I’ll look for you when I’m done?”

Allen smiles, nodding and says, “Yeah, sounds good. I’ll look forward to it.”

He passes Niall on his way into the bar and offers a friendly greeting, which has Niall looking puzzled as he approaches the counter.

“Last orders out? Go ahead and close down, it’s already 11:30. Was that Allen?”

Harry nods, focusing on his close-down procedure. “Yeah, he was in Italy for nine months or something. We’re gonna catch up when I’m done. Grab a drink at the bar.”

“Oh really?” A grin spreads over Niall’s face. “That should be interesting. In the bar, huh?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Niall. We’re just having a conversation. Believe me, there’s no spark there. And anyway…”

After he’d gotten back from Louis’ on Monday, he’d filled Niall in on the whole conversation, and Niall had asked, “Does that mean he’s your boyfriend?”

Harry had said, “No...not yet, I’m not ready for that yet, but yeah, we’re going in that direction.”

Niall had just hugged him and said, “You should do what makes you happy, Harry.”

“No,” Niall is still grinning, “I just remember how Louis used to respond when you’d talk to another guy.”

_The frat house basement is loud and crowded, and Harry’s pressed up against the bar, paying half-hearted attention to the guy who’s been talking to him for a while now. He’s lost Louis in the crowd, which makes him antsy. He can’t believe that he’s almost done with his Freshman year. Classes ended today, they’ve got reading period for the next four days, and then it’s finals and the year is over. Harry’s not looking forward to the next month, when he and Louis will be apart, with Harry in Massachusetts and Louis at home in Santa Barbara, but he knows they’ll make it work, and then, here Harry gives a little wiggle of excitement, because he will be coming back out to California to stay with Louis’ family for the rest of the summer. Louis’ already lined him up a job at the local movie theater, and it’s going to be awesome._

_The guy chatting with Harry seems to have misinterpreted Harry’s wiggle, because he’s moving in closer, breath heavy with beer as he leans into Harry’s face. “You’re really, like, cute, you know? You wanna go to my room? I’d love to get you off.”_

_Harry stares at him in confusion, and is struggling to find the words to emphatically convey how very much of a NO his answer is, when an arm snakes around his waist and he turns to see Louis, pressed up against him, a sharp grin that he tosses to the guy before saying dismissively, “Sorry, dude, he’s got to go.”_

_Louis tugs Harry after him, keeping a tight hold on his hand as he pulls him up the stairs and out of the basement and through the kitchen and out the back door until they come to the end of yard, where there’s a utility shed. Louis yanks Harry around the back of the shed and pushes him up against the wall. He’s not coming anywhere close to hurting Harry, but he’s firm and powerful as he presses up against Harry in the sultry heat of a California summer evening._

_“That guy, Harry, fuck him,” Louis breathes and, shit, Harry can feel him through the thin layers of his athletic shorts, he’s hard, Louis is hard and they’re in public and, oh fuck, Louis fastens his mouth against Harry’s neck and clamps down and Harry’s cock springs to attention at the wet heat._

_“Was he asking you out?”_

_Louis' hand comes down to cup Harry through his own shorts and Harry bucks up against the sudden pressure, moaning._

_“Um, I don’t know, Lou, I wasn’t paying attention, was just looking for you. Oh god, don’t stop.”_

_Louis pulls back just far enough to say seriously, “I trust you, baby, you know that right?” His hand speeds up and fuck, how on earth is Harry already so close to the edge? “I know you’d never cheat on me, but that guy, fuck he was all over you, and you’re mine, Harry, mine.”_

_With a sobbing gasp, Harry comes in his shorts as he whispers, “Yours, Louis, I’m yours.”_

Harry just grins as he wipes down the grill.

“It’ll be fine, Niall, it’s not a big deal.”

When he’s done, he heads into the staff room, where he first washes his face in cold water and judiciously reapplies deodorant, then he gets changed. He wiggles into his tightest black skinny jeans, and pulls on his favorite going-out shirt. It’s black, with front panels made from a thin, sheer fabric with large red roses embroidered on them. He leaves it halfway unbuttoned, and smirks at his reflection in the mirror as he makes an attempt to fix his hair, finally sighing and pulling it up into a bun. Seven hours on the grill doesn’t leave him his freshest, but he knows he looks good, tattoos peeking through the translucent cloth.

As he heads back into the restaurant, the heat and noise roll over him like a wave and he feels like he’s wading against the tide as he makes his way to the bar, exchanging greetings and hugs with staff and familiar customers alike. He sees Allen tucked in at the end of the bar, and makes his way over. Louis is pulling a beer as Harry approaches and he gives Harry a grin and then a sudden, blatant, stare. Harry flushes as Louis' eyes go dark as he hands over the beer to the customer without really looking at him and takes the cash proffered.

The guy is gone when Louis turns around to hand him his change, so he shrugs, and dumps it in the jar in front of him, and when Harry sees the label on it, he chokes. It says “Just put the tip in, see how it feels.”

“Has Niall seen your tip jar?” he calls out over the throb of the sound system and Louis laughs.

“Who do you think made the sign, Styles? What can I get you?” His eyes sweep over Harry’s body in an obvious glance of appreciation and Harry grins widely.

“Dry martini, up with a twist please,” he says primly and Louis' eyes go wide for a moment.

“That’s an interesting way to ring in the new year,” he says as he starts to mix the drink, flipping the shaker with ease and pouring the chilled mixture into a frosty glass, garnishing it with a festive lemon twist. “You never did like olives, did you,” he adds, and turns to take another order.

Harry picks up his drink and takes a sip, and raises his eyebrows in appreciation. He offers a silent toast to Louis, who turns back to his work. Harry moves down the bar a bit, not minding the press of bodies up against him as he squeezes in next to Allen, who’s got the remains of a beer in front of him. “Hey,” he says cheerfully, taking a swallow of his drink.

“Hey,” Allen gives him a look that has Harry’s mind moving towards red alert. “Wow, you look great, you didn’t get dressed up for me, did you?” He gives a flirty smile and Harry frowns, because that doesn’t even make any sense.

He opts for a joking tone, “That would have been difficult since I didn’t know you were going to be here, did I? I love New Year’s Eve, it’s always a blast. Anyway, tell me about Italy?”

They’re chatting and laughing, Harry’s drink almost empty, when Louis approaches. “Hey, Harry,” he says casually, wiping down the bar in front of Allen as he busses his glass. “Who’s your friend? Can I get you another round?” His smile is professional but his eyes are dark and Harry shudders a bit under his look.

“Allen, this is Louis.” He flounders a bit, not entirely sure how to introduce Louis. He settles on, “He came on board with us this fall. Lou, this is Allen, a friend,” he says, trying to convey with his eyes that there’s nothing to see here.

“Oh, hey man, nice to meet you, I’m his ex, actually,” and Allen reaches out his hand to Louis, who shakes it firmly.

Harry stares at Allen in horror and then turns a frantic look to Louis who is...apparently biting his lip to keep from laughing at the look on Harry’s face.

“Ahh,” says Louis, “Well, it’s funny you should say that…”

Whatever he’s going to say next is cut off as Harry says loudly, “Louis is going to law school, isn’t that amazing?”

Allen nods, “That’s great, obviously you can’t be a bartender all your life. I keep trying to get Harry to settle down to a real career, maybe go back for his Ph.D., a mind like his, this,” and here he gestures around at the bar, “is such a waste.”

Harry feels a flare of anger and then hears Louis speak. “Well, personally, I’ve found having an actual marketable skill is a real advantage in the world. Not sure why you wouldn’t consider a culinary-school trained chef as having, what did you say? A real career? Different strokes, I guess.” He smiles, the same smile a great white shark might offer before biting you in half and says calmly, “Give a wave if you want more drinks, boys,” before moving down to the other end of the bar. Harry can actually feel Allen shiver a bit next to him.

“Whoa, he’s...something else,” he says after a moment.

Harry, lost in thought, watching Louis chat with a couple of guys at the other end of the bar, frowns as he catches Louis doing his trademarked glance-down-glance-up-big-smile move and says distractedly, “Yeah, he really is. Excuse me, Allen, I’ve got to…”

He’s not entirely sure what it is he has to do as he swallows the rest of his drink and pushes away from the bar and Allen, to move down to the other end of the room. He shoves his way in none-too-gently next to the guy currently flirting with Louis. Louis turns to look at him with a smug smile.

“Well, hello, Harry.”

“It’s almost midnight,” Harry says, glancing at the clock on the wall.

Louis nods, pours two wines and a beer, hands them off to Jesy. “Yeah. You making any resolutions?”

Harry shrugs as Louis mixes another martini and slides it across the bar to him. “Nah, I don’t usually. I mean, I try to, like, set my intentions for the year or whatever, but I don’t do resolutions. You?”

Louis smiles, nods to a customer who shouts a thanks for the champagne he just poured her. “Same resolution I make every day, I guess.”

Harry is curious but wonders if it’s too personal to ask.

Louis leans across the bar, coming in close to Harry. “You can ask,” is all he says, and waits.

Harry can hear the patrons around them getting excited as on the screen above the ball starts to drop. “What is your resolution, Louis?”

Louis smiles and says, “I wake up every day and say ‘try not to fuck it up today, Tommo.’”

Harry gives a soft, almost sad laugh, achingly aware of how close to him Louis is. He could turn his head, just a bit, and kiss him.

He looks down at his drink and says quietly, “My grandmother always said you should spend New Year’s Day the way you want to spend the year, doing the things that bring you the most joy, with the people who bring you the most happiness.”

The bar is getting louder now, the countdown chant increasing in intensity as Louis' lips brush Harry’s cheek. “And what will you be doing tomorrow then, Harold?”

Finally Harry turns and looks at Louis. He’s right there, so close, far too close for social norms, and he’s smiling as he watches Harry decide. “I don’t know, Lou, but...I hope I’ll be doing it with you.” As the clock winds down to the new year, all Harry has to do to bridge the gap between them is lean slightly, and then his lips are on Louis’ in a soft whisper of a kiss. It’s not passionate, it’s not heavy, it’s almost nothing at all.

Nothing but a promise.

He lingers a moment as the bar erupts into cheers around them and then pulls back.

Louis presses their foreheads together and says so quietly that Harry almost can’t hear him over the mayhem around them. “I’ll be looking forward to it.”

Since Louis' working until close, Harry drifts from person to person, dancing here, chatting there. He has one more drink, but decides to take it easy since he wants to walk Louis home, hopefully kiss him goodnight at the door. As the lights flash twice and then come up for closing time, Allen approaches him where he’s talking to some of the regular customers, and pulls him aside with a sour look on his face.

“So, you and that bartender,” he says.

“Louis,” Harry says pleasantly, “His name is Louis.”

Allen sighs, “I can’t say I’m not disappointed, Harry, I was really hoping we might rekindle what we had.”

At that, Harry can’t help himself and he chuckles a bit. “What we had? Allen, we hung out a few times a year and a half ago, and most of the time it seemed like you were a bit embarrassed to be hanging out with a grill cook. So, no, we’re not going to rekindle anything. I wish you all the best, but...no.”

Allen opens his mouth as if to say something but then something changes his mind, and he just says, “Good night, Harry, and Happy New Year,” and turns quickly to leave, and when Harry turns around, Louis is standing behind him, smiling.

He presses in close to Harry, crowding him up against the wall. He looks tired and a bit disheveled coming off of a 9-hour shift on the busiest night of the year. He looks, Harry thinks, delicious.

“Heard you letting that Allen guy down.”

They’re pressed almost chest-to-chest now, and Harry can feel his heart pounding, can see the looks the other staff are shooting over to them.

“Yeah,” Harry doesn’t look away, holds the eye contact, “Yeah, that’s not happening. Don’t know why he thought it would.”

Louis’ stance gentles somehow and he places a tentative hand on Harry’s hip, “You’re a hard person to get over, Styles.”

“He never had me,” Harry says firmly, trying to get Louis to understand. “He never had one-tenth of the me that you had.”

“Louis,” yells Perrie from behind the bar, “Quit flirting with Harry and come do your restock, I’m not doing it for you.”

“But Perrie,” whines Louis loudly, not looking her way, “Flirting with Harry is so much more fun.”

Harry gently pushes him away, laughing. “Go do your job, I’ll wait. Can I…” suddenly he feels a bit silly, “Can I, um, walk you home?”

Louis’ face transforms into a wide smile, looking suddenly bashful. “Um, yeah. That'd be nice.”

As they walk side-by-side through the dark night, arms occasionally brushing, Harry can hear the sounds of revelry in the distance around them. It’s cold and clear, and something about the dawn of the New Year, with Louis here next to him, feels so achingly hopeful that Harry can barely contain himself. He finally takes a deep breath and snags Louis’ gloved hand with his own. He glances over, sees Louis staring resolutely straight ahead, smiling slightly.

“So, I meant it, earlier,” he says quietly. “I’d really like to spend time with you today, after we get some sleep.” He hopes it doesn’t sound like he’s angling for another invitation to sleep over.

Louis nods, looking exhausted in the light of the streetlamps. “That sounds good. Probably won’t be until mid-afternoon though, I’m done in.”

“Same,” Harry says as they make the turn and wander up Louis’ street towards his apartment building. As they approach his front steps, Harry stops, and Louis turns, looking at him quizzically.

“This is as far as I go,” he says, hearing the regret in his own voice, but knowing this is the right thing for him right now.

“Oh,” Louis says, a flash of disappointment in his eyes, “Yeah, okay.”

He pauses, looking uncertain, and then Harry tugs on his hand, slowly pulling him closer. Harry pulls off his glove, brings his hand up to cup Louis' face. “Is this okay?” he whispers, and Louis nods, lips parting and then Harry is kissing him.

Unlike the kiss in the bar at midnight, this is a kiss of passion and fire, heat flaring between them, as Louis gasps, and Harry shifts his angle, bringing them even closer together. He loses track of time, has no idea how long they’ve been standing there in the cold and the dark, kissing frantically, efforts to get even close hindered by their winter coats, until two women, riding a tandem bicycle, shout out lewd encouragements as they pass by.

Harry eases back, his mouth feeling raw from Louis' beard. They stare at each other for a moment, grinning foolishly, and then Harry says simply, “I’ll text you later, okay? Sleep well, Louis,” and turns to go.

Louis takes the three steps up onto his porch and then turns and calls out as Harry reaches the street. “Happy New Year, Harry. I hope it’s a good year.”

Harry glances back over his shoulder and grins. “I think it’s going to be a _fantastic_ year, Louis.”

**JANUARY 2018**

Over the next few weeks, Harry and Louis start falling back into a routine. They work together, of course, and Harry often ends up staying late after he finishes his shift to hang out at the bar and wait for Louis. Oddly enough, this helps his productivity with Niall, as they move their inventory planning meetings to this time, and everyone is happier about that. Classes start again for both of them. Louis is taking a winter term course that he’s finding fascinating and starting to panic about Spring semester, while Harry’s deep in his second semester pastry courses.

As the time passes, though, Harry begins to feel that they’re somewhat in limbo. They’re spending time together outside of work, but they tend to be studying, or Harry is cooking while Louis reads. There’ve been a few more scorching kisses goodnight, but other than that, Louis hasn’t made a move, and Harry is starting to get impatient. He’d said he wanted to wait, but he’s starting to think that maybe he’s made a bad choice.

It’s hard to be around Louis and not touch him. Harry stops himself from reaching out time and time again, and begins to second-guess himself and Louis. Maybe now that Louis is really getting to know Harry again, and he really is — they talk a lot about _everything_ — Harry worries that maybe Louis is deciding that he doesn’t want their relationship to move to a different level. He’s never said exactly how he feels about Harry since telling him that he wanted to be with him again, and Harry can’t quite read him the way he used to. Maybe Louis has changed his mind.

They’ve started opening themselves up to their friends too. Niall includes Louis in their Tuesday night movie night, and a couple of weeks in, Louis asks hesitantly if he can invite Zayn and Liam as well, who seem, as far as Harry can tell, to come as a set.

Louis’ Liam is, in fact, the guy that Harry went to high school with, and the first time they come over, it’s only awkward for a moment and then they’re crammed into Niall and Harry’s small living room, arguing about superheroes and moaning over the cheesecake Harry had been working on earlier.

Liam is the human equivalent of a golden retriever, and Harry had always liked him a lot, even though they’d run in different circles, as Liam was more of a jock while Harry had been a theater kid. Even though they’d lost touch when they’d gone off to college.

“It’s so good to see you, man,” Liam says earnestly as they settle in to decide on a movie. “I always heard stuff from my mom, she’s on the town wellness committee with yours.”

Harry grins. “Jesus, is there anything more Groton than a town wellness committee?”

Liam rolls his eyes. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

They catch up on what Liam’s doing now, working for some high tech startup in Harvard Square, and Harry is surprised when he says casually, “Yeah, I just finished my bachelor’s last year, I got pretty derailed when I was at U Mass, so I took a bunch of time out, got my shit together, and came back and finished at Northeastern with my bachelor’s in computer science. I was pretty psyched to get hired at this place right out of the gate.”

Zayn, it turns out, is also a law student at Harvard, but while Louis is focusing on Law and Social Change, Zayn is in the combined law and masters in public health program, and for a moment Harry feels a bit inadequate with his practical degrees and career. That feeling is rapidly dispelled, however, when he brings out the cheesecake and for several moments, the only noise in the room is the sound of enthusiastic eating, and the occasional moan of delight. By the time the evening is over, Harry is pretty sure he’s just expanded his social circle by two.

**FEBRUARY 2018**

By the time they head towards the end of February, Harry is going crazy, and he’s pretty sure that Louis is sending him there deliberately. True, they don’t have a lot of time to spend together, now that Louis is into his Spring semester, and it seems that every minute he’s not working or in class, he’s studying. But when they’re together, there are lots of long, lingering looks, gentle touches and kisses that sometimes turn blazing, but that somehow never seem to ignite fully.

Finally, Harry decides, they’ve got to talk about this, and he decides to force the moment to present itself on a Wednesday night, when they’re not working, Harry doesn’t have lab, and they’ve managed to get themselves together to go out for dinner.

Harry goes all out, he makes a reservation at Harvest, he dresses up in one of his favorite suits, and picks up flowers. As he’s headed out the door, Niall whistles in appreciation.

“Where you off to, all dressed up?”

Harry blushes. “I’m taking Louis out to dinner, like on a real date.”

Niall sits bolt upright from where he was lounging on the sofa. “You’re not going to propose to him, are you?”

“What?” Harry stares, dumbfounded.

“Just,” Niall waves a hand, “you’re all dressed up, you’re bringing him flowers…”

“What? No,” Harry exclaims, “Niall, I don’t even know what we’re doing here, if we’re dating or what?”

It’s Niall’s turn to stare. “What the fuck are you talking about, Harry, you’ve been dating for weeks now, since Christmas.”

“Well, yeah, I guess so, in a way,” Harry says, frustrated, “But we’re not...like…” His voice trails off as he tries to figure out how to explain it. “We’re not…”

“Banging?” Supplies Niall, with a knowing glint in his eye.

“Jesus, Niall. Yeah, okay.”

“Well,” Niall asks reasonably, “What are you waiting for?”

Harry sits down next to him on the sofa as he ponders the question. “I don’t know,” he says finally, “Because maybe…”

“Maybe it’s not just about the banging?” Niall asks.

“Yeah. It’s like, if we had just fucked back in December when we first talked, it would have been so much easier.”

“Dude, you’ve always been easy for him, you gotta admit. I’m honestly a bit shocked you’ve both held out this long.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “It’s just, we’re not kids anymore. And this is...Niall, this is...it means so much to me. God, Niall.” It hits him suddenly, and Harry stares at Niall, wide-eyed. “Niall, oh my god, what if I’m...do you think I’m falling in love with him again?”

Niall doesn't react much, just raises one eyebrow as Harry hyperventilates a bit. “Jesus, c’mon Harry,” Niall rolls his eyes and shoves Harry’s head down between his knees. “Are you telling me you actually didn’t know?”

Harry shakes his head from his hunched-over position, his voice muffled by his knees, “Niall, what the hell am I doing? How can I fall back in love with the man who broke my fucking heart? Shit, I’m late, I need to go.” He takes a deep gasping breath and stands. As he walks down the stairs, Niall’s last comment is ringing in his ears.

“Harry, do you think you were ever _not_ in love with him?”

As Harry approaches Louis’ door, he takes a deep breath, and then another. A third just to be sure. He’s okay. He’s got this. But as Louis comes down the stairs and opens the door, Harry knows one thing for sure.

He doesn’t have this.

Louis has dressed up too, he’s got on a sleek black overcoat, and underneath it, Harry can see a form fitting black suit with just a hint of sparkle to it. He’s wearing a silver silk jacquard bow tie, and heavy-soled black brogues. His hair is styled up and his blue eyes are shining and clear as he takes in Harry in his dark grey three piece suit, that he’s paired with a seafoam green shirt and coordinating tie.

“Wow,” he breathes as he steps through the door and out onto the porch. “Harry, just. Wow, you look amazing.”

Harry can’t breathe. He stares at Louis in a panic and all he can think is “Is this love? Is that what’s happening here?”

Louis moves closer, concerned now, and Harry is pretty sure he looks a bit deranged as he stands at the foot of the stairs and gapes at him like a guppy.

“Harry,” Louis’ voices sounds like he’s talking to Harry from miles away, or like Harry’s underwater. “Are you okay, baby? You look...I don’t know, are you alright?”

“I’m think I’m falling back in love with you.”

Louis freezes as the words ring between them, and Harry suddenly grins, feeling like a huge weight has been lifted from him.

“What?”

Harry says softly. “You heard me. I just...it just hit me. I thought you should know.” He offers the flowers to Louis who takes them in stunned silence. “Shall we go? Our reservation’s at 8.”

Louis stares at Harry, looks at the flowers, holds one finger up and, without saying a word, ducks back inside and Harry can see him heading down the hall and into his apartment. He reemerges a moment later without the flowers and comes to a halt at the top of the stairs, staring down at Harry with a bemused expression.

“Are we...going to talk about this?” He asks eventually.

“Nope,” Harry says cheerfully, “I don’t think there’s really anything else to say right now, is there?”

Part of him is anxious to hear Louis say the words back, terrified that he won’t, and part of him simply feels liberated by his own honesty. Louis sighs, mutter something under his breath that Harry doesn’t quite catch, and when Harry offers him his arm, takes it, and they head off to the restaurant.

When they get there, Harry looks around eagerly. He hasn’t been to Harvest in a couple of years. It’s a lovely restaurant, and he’s particularly eager to try the dinner tasting menu. When they’re seated, he asks the server, “Is Julian on tonight?” When the server nods, Harry smiles and says, “Can you let him know that Harry Styles is here?” He adds as Louis looks interested, “He was one of my favorite teachers at CSCA, and he’s been trying to get me in here for ages.”

Louis grins as an ample man in gleaming white chef’s clothes, including the traditional hat, sweeps out from the rear of the restaurant and yanks Harry out of his chair into a tight embrace, giving him a smacking kiss on each cheek.

“Harry!” He booms, “Darling child, how are you? You should have told me you were coming!” He snaps his fingers and points to the waiter, “You, you must take care of this one, he’s one of _mine._ Now, Harry,” and here Julian turns his gaze onto Louis. It’s a little like standing in the beam of a lighthouse. “You simply _must_ introduce me to your lovely companion.”

Louis smiles and holds out his hand, “Louis Tomlinson, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Julian clasps Louis’ smaller hand between his own two mitts, and shakes it, then just holds it as he stares into Louis’ eyes. “Okay,” he says finally, “I know what I’m going to make for you tonight.”

Harry starts to protest, “Julian, no, we’re perfectly happy ordering off the menu…”

His voice trails off as Julian removes one of his hands from where he’s still clasping Louis’, to simply point one finger at Harry and say firmly, _“No.”_

Julian turns back to Louis. “Now,” he says, “you got any allergies? Anything you can’t have?” Louis seems to have noted that Julian has not asked him if there’s anything he doesn’t like, and is grinning. Harry think that this looks to be an adventure.

“Not at all,” Louis replies, “I eat everything.”

“Good, good. I was Harry’s teacher at culinary school, did he tell you that? He’s one of the best students I’ve ever had. Tried for two years to get him to come work here with me.” Julian sounds shocked that he didn’t succeed, but there’s a strong note of pride in his voice as well. “This boy could have apprenticed in any kitchen he wanted, and instead, he’s making burgers. Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m sure they’re the best burgers ever made by human hands! But,” and here Julian claps Louis’ hand even tighter as he gazes soulfully into his eyes, “Louis, have you ever tasted his Beef Wellington? Or his Coq au Vin?” He actually lets go of Louis’ hand to bring his fingers to his lips to kiss them. “Unbelievable. He’s amazing.”

Louis smiles and says, “No, he hasn’t really cooked much for me.”

Julian’s mouth forms a perfect O of horror as he turns to Harry. “What? _What is this?_ Harry, how could you? _I taught you better than that.”_

Louis bursts out laughing as Harry starts to protest, but Julian just plows right over him. “In any case, Louis, tonight I myself will cook for you a meal you _will_ enjoy. I will select the wine pairings myself!”

At that Harry blanches, but Louis just shakes his head briefly at him and says, “I’m honored Chef Julian, truly,” and with that, Julian sweeps back into the kitchen, leaving a wake of stunned silence behind him.

After a moment, Louis says, “Is he always…” and Harry just sighs and says, “Yeah. Always.”

They’re seated and Harry begins, “Louis, about the wine,” but Louis cuts him off.

“Harry, it’s really okay, I’d love to try the wines he selects, and I do know my limits.” His face softens and he adds, “You can always tell me if you’re concerned, but I’ve actually had a fair amount of practice at appropriate social drinking over the last couple of years. Okay?”

Harry nods. He doesn’t want anything to spoil this night. The thing is, Louis, in the glow of the candles on the table, is just breathtaking, and Harry can’t stop looking at him. His hair takes on a reddish cast in the dim light and his eyes are sparkling, reflecting back sparks of gold as he laughs and talks. His mouth is expressive and Harry suddenly just...wants so much that his throat goes dry.

The intensity of what he’s feeling only increases as the meal, exquisitely prepared and undoubtedly delicious, comes out in wave after delicious wave. There’s a caviar that has him groaning in delight, a hearts of palm salad that has Harry breathing a prayer of thanks for vegetables, and then a Kobe ribeye that just about brings him to his knees. The wine pairings, are, of course, exquisite, and Harry can’t help moaning as he takes a sip, rolling the rich red around on his tongue as he inhales.

He looks up to see that Louis is staring at him, mouth slightly open, fork forgotten halfway to his plate and, feeling a bit devilish, quirks an eyebrow at him.

“Everything alright there, Louis?”

Lous starts and sets his fork down with a bit of a clatter.

The conversation has flowed between them all evening, and as the last of their dinner plates are cleared in preparation for dessert, Harry can’t help smiling at Louis.

“That was amazing,” he says, “Julian’s a genius.”

“Do you ever wish you’d gone this route instead? I mean, Mary’s is great, don’t get me wrong, but like, Harry. If you worked someplace like this, you’d be an artist.”

Harry shrugs. “Yeah, I guess. But I don’t know. I like the food I design and serve at Mary’s. I like feeding people good hearty food, that I know is well-sourced, and that the customers enjoy. This is great for a special occasion, but I don’t think it’s where my heart is. And, it takes years to develop a following so that you can have your own place, and that’s never been my dream.”

Louis reaches over and drags his fingers along the back of Harry’s hand, the slight touch shooting sparks straight from his hand to his groin and his breath catches as he stares wide-eyed at Louis. They both jump when the server sets down dessert in front of them, and when Harry sees it, he laughs. They have individual molten chocolate cakes and Harry explains, “I had an argument with Julian about these once, it was epic!”

They spend the next few minutes focused on their chocolate, but the thing is, Louis doesn’t stop touching Harry now that he’s started. Whether it’s knee-to-knee nudges under the table, gentle strokes on the back of Harry’s hand, or once, he even reaches up and runs his thumb across Harry’s lips to remove some extra chocolate, and then, the bastard, he pops his thumb into his own mouth and licks it clean while maintaining impeccable eye contact.

“Louis,” Harry all but whimpers, “Please…” If directly confronted, he wouldn’t be able to say if he needs Louis to stop torturing him or wants to beg him to continue, preferably on his knees, but, he remembers, Louis always did like to tease.

Louis just raises one eyebrow and Harry flushes, half-hard in his well-fitting suit pants.

“Everything alright there, Harry?” and oh yes, payback is a bitch.

“Fuck off, that’s not fair,” he hisses as Louis gently traces one graceful hand across his own chest, toying with the buttons on his shirt as he glances at Harry from beneath his long eyelashes.

Louis gives a snort of laughter and eases up for a moment, and then his gaze turns a bit more serious. Harry holds his breath, wondering if Louis is going to bring up his impulsive declaration from earlier. It’s been simmering at the back of his brain all evening, subsumed by his focus on the absolutely incredible meal that Julian has prepared for them, but it has not disappeared. He knows they need to address it, and he knows what he wants to have happen, and he’s getting the impression that Louis is on-board as well.

He grabs the check and then sighs at the zero balance. “Julian’s taken care of our dinner,” he says, his tone laced with equal parts affection and irritation. “I need to go back and say thank you.”

Louis just smiles and then bites his lip a bit, the fucking bastard. “Hurry back, Harry. We’ve not even gotten to talk about how I haven’t tasted your coq...au vin yet.”

Harry stares at him and then groans. “Have you been waiting all night to make that joke?”

Louis nods, looking very pleased with himself. “I have indeed. Now, go say your goodbyes.” His gaze rakes blatantly over Harry.

Harry’s breath catches and he promises, “I’ll be quick.” He stands and walks back to the kitchen to say goodnight to his mentor. Even in his hurry, it takes him several minutes to extract himself from Julian’s embrace, who finally lets him go with a kiss to each cheek and a rumbled, “Go be good to that boy of yours, he ate everything, he’s lovely.”

Harry hurries out and sees Louis sitting calmly at the table and pauses to take a moment just to look at him, really look at him. He’s so beautiful in the candlelight as he glances down at his phone, smiling at something, and suddenly it’s physically painful for Harry to be this far from him, not touching him.

He walks over and places his hand on Louis’ shoulder, who looks up with a smile. “All set then?”

“Yeah,” Harry smiles in return, “‘I’m sorry for the wait, Julian can be...err, difficult to have a short conversation with.”

Louis nods in understanding, and says, “No problem, I was fine.” He stands and as they make their way to the coat room, he slips his hand into Harry’s, glancing sideways with a small smile. Harry squeezes his hand back and hopes.

When they get back to Porter Square, Louis pauses for a moment and says, “Would it be...too forward if I asked you to come back to mine?”

Harry breathes a deep sigh of relief and sets off at a fast clip, tugging a laughing Louis after him, their hands clasped together. When they get to Louis' building, it’s dim in the hallway and all of a sudden, as Louis fumbles for his keys, Harry can’t wait any longer.

“Louis,” he says. That’s all he says, but everything’s right there in his voice, every hope, every dream, every ounce of desire he feels for this man, “Louis, _please,”_ and then Louis is in his arms, and they’re kissing. It’s a patient kiss, calm at first, a kiss of promises and pledges, of gratitude for each other and then. Then the kiss flares into something entirely different. This is a kiss of desperate desire, of _now,_ and _please_ , and _don’t stop, for the love of god._

Louis presses Harry back against the wall and pulls away for a moment, panting.

“Fuck,” he whispers, and then, “Do you think we should talk about this?”

But Harry doesn’t want to talk anymore. In fact, there’s nothing he wants less. All he wants in this moment is for Louis to hold him, to remind him of how it feels to be touched by hands that love him.

“Tomorrow,” he says, “Please, Louis, can’t we talk later?”

Louis opens his mouth to reply but Harry silences him with another kiss, gentle at first. He presses his mouth to Louis’ and closes his eyes, reveling in the tender touch of skin on skin. Slowly the kiss builds as Harry reaches out with both hands now, cradling Louis’ face. He hears Louis breathe one word into his mouth, just “Harry,” that’s it, and in that one word is the aching ghost of the past between them, the hurt, the pain and loss, and somewhere beneath that, the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, they really can find their way back to each other once more.

Finally Louis pulls back and says, “C’mon, let’s just get inside, okay?” He seems overwhelmed, drops the keys and laughs as he looks over at Harry who is staring at him, his heart in his throat. Louis finally gets the door unlocked and yanks Harry into the apartment after him. He shuts the door and then they’re kissing again, pressed up against the hallway wall and Harry struggles to get out of his winter coat without letting his mouth leave Louis’.

They drop their coats to the ground, leaving them where they fall, shoes and gloves now tossed carelessly aside.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Louis chants as he pulls Harry into the living room and shoves him towards the couch, “Fuck, Harry, you’re so fucking hot in that suit,” and he tosses Harry’s suit coat towards the chair and runs his hands up Harry’s sides and gets to work on the vest buttons.

Harry returns the favor, tossing Louis’ jacket after his own, and reaches up and laughs in delight as he realizes that Louis' bow tie is not pre-tied. He unties it with a yank, “Holy shit, you tied a bow tie?”

Louis yanks Harry’s vest off and says, “Yeah, learned how when I was working at the law firm, seemed like a good style choice at the time, now I love ‘em. Fuck, Harry,” he leans in to kiss him again, fusing their mouths together in an explosion of heat and sensation that leaves Harry achingly hard and reeling.

He drops onto the couch and yanks Louis down, who lands in his lap with a soft huff of surprise, and for long moments, they’re lost in each other, and Harry groans as Louis runs his hands through his hair and moves in such a way that Harry has no doubt that Louis is just as impacted by this as he is.

Like everything else with Louis these days, Harry is overwhelmed by how similar and yet wholly new this feels. Louis’ mouth is familiar, his cologne is not; his touch is strong and sure as he runs his hands over Harry’s shoulders and back up into his hair, the way Harry has always loved. He can feel the hard length of Louis through his suit pants as he shifts above him, as their bodies strive to get closer.

“Oh god,” Harry hears Louis moan and then, all of a sudden, he stiffens and lets out a guttural moan as he drops his head to Harry’s shoulder, shuddering out his orgasm.

“Holy shit,” Harry breathes as he holds Louis close, achingly hard himself, feeling a pang of disappointment that he didn’t even get to get his hands, or, his mouth waters at the thought, his mouth on him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Louis whispers and shifts back a bit on Harry’s lap, grimacing, Harry presumes, at the situation in his dress pants.

Then Louis opens his eyes and Harry feels his heart race again, this moment could go either way, but Louis just smiles and says, “Give me a second, that was, wow, Harry, holy shit.” He takes a deep breath and then gives a wicked grin as he slides his hand down to press it against Harry’s aching cock, and, oh god, Harry’s eyes roll back in his head at the touch.

“Can I,” Louis coughs, clears his throat, “Can I please suck you off, Harry?”

“Um,” Harry’s voice is hoarse as well, “Yeah, yeah, okay. Yeah, you can do that.” Louis slides off of him and down onto his knees on the floor in front of Harry. He carefully undoes Harry’s belt and pants, and whispers, “Lift up,” so Harry does, as Louis slides his pants and underwear down, tossing them off to the side of the room.

Louis runs his hands down Harry’s hips and onto his thighs and Harry can’t help himself, he almost whimpers as Louis’ hands skate over his groin and his hips thrust up, almost of their own accord as he chases the sensation his hands are leaving in their wake.

“Please,” he groans, “Please Louis, oh god, please just…” and then his voice is reduced to an inarticulate cry as Louis finally takes the head of his cock in his mouth. His movements are tentative, almost unsure at first, and for a moment, Harry can’t help wondering why, but then he seems to gain confidence, maybe in part due to the unabashed pleasure Harry is clearly experiencing as Louis works him over.

He hears himself chanting over and over, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, that’s so good, oh my god, Louis,” until, all too soon, he feels the familiar white-hot heat building in his belly. “Shit, shit, Louis, you’re making me come, I’m gonna come,” and Louis pulls off, replacing his mouth with his hand and then Harry’s orgasm crashes over him like a wave, pulling him under, and for several long moments, he’s left speechless as he rides the crest pulsing through him.

He collapses back against the couch as he pulls Louis up off the floor and cuddles him into his side, ignores the mess, ignores the fact that he’s still wearing his shirt buttoned up and his tie, for god’s sake, but he’s naked from the waist down, and that Louis’ probably feeling a bit sticky and uncomfortable right now.

He opens one eye to look at Louis next to him and says, “Err, sorry about your dress pants.”

Louis snickers and cuddles even closer. “No worries, I dripped a bit of salad dressing on them at dinner so they were already going to need to go to the drycleaner. I’m gonna have to try and clean them out a bit though, otherwise I’m never going to be able to look Asher in the face again.”

Harry snorts at that and says, “I’m pretty sure they’ve seen it before, if not far worse.”

Louis yawns and says, “I don’t think I even want to know what would be the worse that they’ve seen.”

Harry runs his hands through Louis’ hair, who melts into him even more, almost purring under his ministrations. “You tired, baby?”

“I think,” Louis muses, “the romance novel word for what I’m feeling would be...sated.”

Harry rolls his eyes, and though he’s not even looking at him, Louis pokes him in retaliation. There’s a brief scuffle that ends with Harry flat on his back on the couch, Louis pressed against him with a smirk.

Louis then makes a face. “C’mon, I’m tired, I’m sticky, I want a shower. Do you...um, do you want to stay?”

Harry looks up at Louis hovering over him. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah. I want to stay.”

They get ready for bed, like they had so many times together before. They brush their teeth side by side, Louis scrubs Harry’s back in the shower. They dry off, Harry trying hard not to stare too long at Louis' body in the dim light of the bedroom.

They climb into bed, and Harry snuggles against the pillow, turning to face Louis. “That was,” he begins, “That was pretty spectacular, Lou. Makes me wonder why we haven’t been doing that all along?” He tries to pass it off as a joke, but it’s not; he knows it, and Louis knows it.

Louis leans over to press a gentle kiss to Harry’s nose. “Because I wasn’t ready. And I don’t think you were either. Because…” and here his words echos Harry’s from his earlier conversation with Niall, “Because it’s not just fucking, Harry. And,” here he shrugs a bit as he turns over to slide back against Harry, who revels in the feel of skin on skin as they cuddle. “Honestly, I was kind of nervous. It’s been a long time.”

“How long?” Harry asks, before he can stop himself.

Lous glances over his shoulder, raises one eyebrow. “You really want to know?”

Harry thinks for a moment, and finally says, “Yeah. Not...like, details I guess. But yeah.”

The thing is, it hurts. It hurts thinking of Louis with other men, kissing them, loving them, and he imagines it will hurt Louis if Harry talks about his history. But Harry is pretty sure it’ll hurt more not to know anything. “I don’t want secrets between us.”

“Okay.” Louis pauses as if gathering his thoughts. “So...like I said, when I was still drinking and using, I made a lot of bad choices. And sometimes those choices involved hooking up with guys. I was always pretty careful, and I’ve been tested regularly, and I’m not...I don’t have anything to worry about there, Harry.” He takes a deep breath. “But the last time I did that, was the guy I told you about, on Christmas Eve. 2014.”

Harry is stunned. “Wait, that’s over 3 years. You haven’t been with anyone since then?”

Louis is amused, Harry can tell, by the surprise in his voice. “Nope. Nothing...with anyone else.”

“But, why?”

“Well, Harry. They say if you want something done right, you should do it yourself,” Louis says solemnly, and Harry laughs even as he’s shaking his head.

“No, for real. Why?”

Louis takes a deep breath. “Okay, for real. Well, AA suggests that you don’t get into a new relationship when you’re first getting sober. And then, once I’d started to get clearer in my head, I began therapy and realized that I had a lot of work to do, that I wasn’t really in the best place to think about starting something with anyone... And then...then there was the small fact that every time I met a guy, all I could think was, ‘he’s not Harry.’”

“What?” Harry says, slightly stunned.

“Yeah.” Louis rolls back over to face Harry again. “What you said that day at the coffee shop, it tore me apart. That you’d moved on, that you’d gotten over me. Because I never did, Harry. I never got over you, and I never stopped caring about you, even though I knew you had to have moved on.” He takes a deep breath. “So, it seemed really pointless to hook up with anyone else.”

He looks nervous, so Harry tries to reassure him, running a hand up his side and curving it around his waist as he begins to figure out what he wants to say.

“Louis,” he begins, then pauses and tries again. “When I said those things, last October. I meant them, in a way. I was still so hurt and angry, and I was lashing out. Because I’d tried to move on, to let you go.”

Louis nods, dropping his eyes.

“But, as Niall pointed out to me...I guess I didn’t do a very good job of it.”

Louis makes a face, and asks, “What do you mean? I won’t lie, Harry, it’s hard to hear but...yeah, I’d like to know.”

“I haven’t dated anyone for more than 3 months since we broke up. I slept with a couple of guys that first year, and had a few short-term relationships, but I just couldn’t connect to anyone I met. I told myself it was because I was so busy, with school and then Mary’s and all, but I think. Maybe it was the same for me, Lou. Maybe I wasn’t over you.”

There’s a moment of silence as they both seem to be processing what the other one has said.

“So, what you said earlier.” Louis begins, hesitant. “About falling…you know.”

Harry nods.

“I feel…” his voice trails off as he runs a hand through his hair, “It’s not that I don’t...shit, why is this so hard to say?” He stares helplessly at Harry who thinks he might understand.

“I’m not ready to say it,” he says and Louis exhales in relief.

“Yeah, it’s not like I don’t feel it, in there, but it’s confused right now. I’m not ready to say it either. I think that I’d like to...maybe hold off on going a lot further too, like, making love. I don’t know if I’ve built it up in my head, but it feels like a lot.”

Harry nods. “Let’s just take it day by day? See how it goes? But,” and here his heart starts to pound, “Um, there is one thing?”

Louis looks a bit concerned. “What is it, babe?”

“I just…” oh God, Harry thinks, why is this part so difficult, “I don’t want to be with anyone else and I don’t want you to be with anyone else either.”

He’s not expecting Louis' face to light up or his laughter to ring out through the room, but it does and Harry feels perplexed.

“Harry,” Louis says, amusement still coloring his voice, “Harry, did you miss the part where I just told you that I haven’t dated or slept with anyone for over three years because I was still hung up on you? You don’t have to worry, sweetheart, I’m not going to be with anyone else, not when I get to be with you.”

Harry smiles, feeling yet another lock on his heart click open. “Does that mean...you’re my boyfriend again?”

Louis says carefully, “I’d love that, Harry, if you’re comfortable with that.”

Harry nods. “I think,” he says thoughtfully, “I think yes, I’d like that.”

He pulls Louis back in for a gentle kiss, which he breaks off to yawn widely.

Louis just laughs, rolls over and flips of the light, immediately curling back in around Harry, his hand seeking Harry’s automatically.

“Good night, Harry.”

Harry remembers so many nights from before, when they’d fall asleep holding hands, and his heart almost hurts with how full it feels to be here, years later and miles away from where they fell in love, clasping hands with Louis once more as he falls into sleep.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**MARCH 2018**

For the next few weeks, Harry feels like he’s floating on a cloud of endorphins and orgasms. He’s wondered, more than once, if he’d exaggerated his sexual chemistry with Louis in his own mind, creating something that no other man could live up to, but, he’s pleased to report to Niall, that doesn’t seem to be the case.

“It’s like I’m 16 again and just discovered what a penis is capable of,” he remarks enthusiastically to Niall one Tuesday morning over pancakes. “He’s just so...god, Niall. He’s so perfect. It’s like I found the part of me I was missing.”

Niall frowns at that. “Harry, Lou’s great, you know I love him like a brother, and honestly, I’m thrilled for you both, but...you need to be careful. You did this last time too.”

“What? What did I do?”

Niall sighs, looking uncharacteristically solemn, “You put him on a pedestal, and kind of...I don’t know, lost a bit of yourself. I know you guys have talked a whole bunch and stuff, but is it really that easy? To just let go of the past? He’s not perfect, Harry. No one is perfect. And shouldn’t you be whole by yourself?”

Harry pokes at his breakfast, pondering Niall’s words, which, to be honest, sting a bit.

“We just...fit though.” He says finally. “And no, it’s not easy to let go of the past, but it hasn’t really come up lately. We’ve been,” and here he flushes hot for a moment, “Um, focusing on other things right now. Getting to know each other again.”

“Getting to know each other’s dicks, you mean,” Niall laughs. “Just please don’t fuck on the couch, I’ve already seen enough of that to last a lifetime.”

With that, he busses his breakfast stuff into the dishwasher and pauses. “You want help with cleanup? I’ve got to get over to Mary’s for ordering, but I can do the pans?”

Harry shakes his head. “I got it. Lab got cancelled today, Ferguson has the flu, so I’ve got nothing going on. Louis’ on break this week, so he’s coming over this afternoon and we’re just going to hang out.”

Niall heads into the bathroom and says, “Hang out, huh? Okay, I’ll plan to be out until...I don’t know, 5? Does that give you enough time?”

Harry groans, “We’re not actually fucking yet, Niall, you know that, right?”

He hears Niall finish brushing his teeth, and then he comes out of the bathroom. “Why not, though? I mean, you’re doing everything else at this point?”

Harry debates on how much he feels comfortable saying. “We’re doing a lot. Not everything. It’s just...it’s been a while for both of us, and, I don’t know. We’ll see.”

“Well,” Niall grabs his messenger bag and throws on his coat. “Just don’t do it on the couch. I’ll be back at 5.” He plants a kiss on top of Harry’s head and clatters out the door.

Harry spends the morning puttering in the apartment. They’ve got the third floor of a typical Somerville triple-decker, and he loves the feel of the place with the morning light streaming in the windows. He waters the plants, runs some laundry, changes his sheets.

When Louis shows up, he flops down on Harry’s bed, burying his face in the pillows. “Oh, you just did laundry, didn’t you. It smells the same.” He rolls onto his back and stares up at Harry, his face lit up by the sun, and all of a sudden, Harry’s throat goes dry and he just...wants.

Louis starts to smirk and raises one eyebrow. “And what just crossed your filthy young mind, Styles? Inquiring minds want to know.”

Harry sets down the shirt he was folding, and approaches the bed. He sits, and leans over to brace himself on one arm and pushes Louis' hair up off of his forehead.

“I was thinking,” he leans down to press a kiss against Louis’ jawline, covered in last night’s scruff, “That you look so beautiful in this light.” At that, Louis’ face softens into his sweet, crinkly-eyed smile. “And, I was thinking I’d probably look pretty good in it too, especially if I was riding you.”

Stretched out underneath him, Louis freezes, his eyes going wide.

Harry continues, “I know you wanted to take it slowly, but I just...I’m ready, Lou. I’m ready, if you want to.”

Suddenly Louis moves, yanking Harry down and rolling them over so he’s above Harry, pressed together and then his knees nudge Harry’s legs apart, and he sinks down between Harry’s thighs. His voice is low and greedy as he whispers, “Oh god, I want to, Harry. I want to.”

His hips roll, and involuntarily, Harry tilts up to meet him in a sudden press of pleasure that wrings a groan from his lips.

Louis leans down and seals their mouths together in a flash of heat and wet, long strokes with his tongue that soon have Harry writhing on the bed under him. Louis trails a line of kisses and slight nips down Harry’s neck and murmurs, “How do you want to do this, Harry? Have you thought about how you want it?”

Harry takes a deep breath, “I want you in me, please, Louis.”

Louis pulls back a bit, nods. “I can...yeah, I can do that, I think.” He presses a hand, hard, to the bulge in his sweatpants as if just the thought of it, the thought of plunging himself into the heat of Harry’s body has him too close to the edge.

“You think?” Harry smirks from where he’s still sprawled out underneath Louis and rocks his hips up just a bit.

“Oh hush you,” Louis scolds with a smile and leans down to kiss Harry again, and suddenly it’s slow, soft, achingly sweet between them. “You’re the only one I’ve ever...I haven’t...with anyone else. Either way. The others were just hookups.”

Tears spring to Harry’s eyes at the naked vulnerability in Louis' voice and he whispers back, “I haven’t let anyone else...You’re the only who’s ever had me like that.”

Louis' eyes fill and he raises one hand to cup Harry’s cheek as he smiles tremulously. “Well, then,” he whispers, the force of unspoken love shining through every word, “We’ll just have to go slow. Remember it together.”

Harry smiles back, so filled with love himself, he thinks it must be radiating off every inch of his skin. Soon, he thinks to himself. He’ll say it soon _._ “I think the first order of the afternoon is, too many clothes.” He efficiently strips Louis out of his sweatshirt and t-shirt, dumps them to the side and wrestles a bemused Louis onto his back.

He pauses, pulls off his own shirt, and then just looks down at Louis, runs his hand over his chest. Louis arches up with a moan as he brushes over one nipple and Harry grins, leans down, and follows his fingers with his mouth.

He trails his tongue over Louis' sternum, down to his belly, nips over the crests of his hipbones as he works Louis' sweatpants down over his thighs, so he can kick them off to the foot of the bed. Harry runs the flat of his palm over Louis' erection, straining under the soft cotton of his boxer briefs as Louis hisses in anticipation.

Harry carefully rolls down the waistband and frees Louis' hard cock from the gentle confines. He leans over and swipes his tongue up along the vein running along the underside, taking a deep breath as he does, filling his sense with the scent of Louis. Just before he sucks him down deep, he whispers, “God, you smell so good.”

Louis shudders beneath him, breath hitching as he fights to hold still, fingers twisting into the quilt beneath him.

Past and present merge as Harry takes him in, takes him down deep, one hand working over the base of Louis' cock, the other pressed to his own aching dick. He’s always loved blowing Louis, loves the weight on his tongue, the stretch of his jaw, the taste that floods his mouth.

Far too soon for his liking, Louis pants, “Stop, stop, FUCK, Harry, I’m too close,” and Harry pulls off reluctantly, placing a small, friendly kiss to the tip of Louis' dick. Louis throws an arm over his eyes as he gasps, chest heaving as he tries to regain control, and Harry feels a smug smile stretch across his face as he wipes his mouth.

After a moment, Louis looks at him, and rolls his eyes. “All right, fine, you…” he pauses and grins, “Definitely were blowing my mind there, happy?”

“Oh yeah,” Harry says, going willingly as Louis pushes him over onto his back and stands up. He should look ridiculous is the thing, naked with his hard-on bobbing in front of him as he steps over and rummages in Harry’s closet, but he doesn’t. He looks fierce, elemental, and every inch of him is lovely.

“Jesus, Harry, your closet is a disaster zone,” Louis comments as he emerges with a couple of big towels.

He lays one out on the bed, tossing Harry a grin, “It’d be a shame to dirty up this lovely quilt, baby, cuz we’re about to get...messy.”

Harry gulps and waves a hand towards the bedside table. “Um, second drawer down.”

Louis opens it, pulls out the bottle of lube and a box of condoms. He gives a small, secret smile at the sight of the unopened box and sets them on the bed next to Harry.

Harry rolls onto the towel and smiles, feeling an anxious flutter of anticipation. “Um, go slow, okay?”

Louis nods and helps Harry strips out of his sweats and underpants, leaving him spread out, bare and wanting on the bed.

Louis slides down Harry’s body and whispers, “I think it’s starting to come back to me,” as he slicks up his fingers and teases them down between Harry’s legs. As he begins to work Harry open, he sucks the head of his cock into his mouth, exerting a gentle pressure that has Harry overwhelmed by the sensation.

Harry loses track of time, the sun has shifted a bit in the sky by the time he’s lying there, simply dazed, as Louis whispers, “I think you’re ready, baby. Shift up,” and feels a pillow being wedged under his hips, hears the sound of the condom wrapper tearing open. Their eyes meet and hold as Louis arranges himself above Harry, who hooks his legs around Louis', wanting to be as close to him as possible. They don’t look away from each other as Louis presses in, Harry breathing deeply at the stretch, though Louis has prepped him so well. It’s overpowering, is the thing, the sensation of Louis' body sliding into his, and Harry’s hand lifts of its own volition to reach up and touch Louis' face. He’s laser-focused as he moves slowly, and Harry groans. It’s too much and not enough. It’s been so long but his body knows how this feels, knows the way Louis will move within him, knows how this will play out now. It’s too much and not enough, and it’s everything.

It feels like coming home.

Harry’s eyes fill as Louis presses all the way in and he closes them against the onslaught of emotion.

“Harry, baby,” Louis gasps, his voice raspy and hoarse, “Are you okay? Do you want to stop? I can stop, baby.”

“No,” Harry whispers, “No, love, I need you to stay, just...give me a moment.” He inhales something suspiciously close to a sob and opens his eyes again, unable to look away from Louis for too long.

Louis is braced above him, arms trembling from the effort to hold still as he pauses, hips rocking slightly, concern on his face. “Harry,” he says softly, “Hey, Harry. It’s just me and you, right here. Right now. Together, baby.”

Harry nods, almost too overwhelmed to speak now. All he can say is, “Move, Lou, please. You can move.”

And so Louis does. So slowly and tenderly at first, he sinks into Harry and then rises above him, their pants and gasps filling the room, the creak of the bed beneath them, the scent of them together surrounding them. Harry meets him, gasp for gasp, thrust for thrust as Louis goes faster now, groaning his pleasure out as he moves.

Again and again, until Harry feels that tell-tale sensation deep in his gut. He’s been clinging to Louis with both hands and loosens his grip as he cries out to Louis, “Fuck, Louis, that’s it, right there, just, oh god, touch me please, _please_ Lou,” and Louis braces himself, sinks in deep and wraps one hand around Harry’s cock and that’s all it takes, Harry shouts as his back arches and he comes hard enough to see stars.

“Fuck, Harry,” Louis groans and then he’s coming too, plunging himself as deep as he can get into Harry’s body as Harry welcomes him in, holds him close.

In the aftermath, they’re both panting, Harry sprawled out on the pillows while Louis is still braced above him, his head hanging low as he tries to catch his breath. After a long moment, Louis carefully pulls out and Harry makes a face at the sensation. Louis collapses onto the bed next to him and pulls Harry into his arms.

His voice is filled with emotion as he whispers, “That was amazing, Harry, thank you.”

Harry laughs delightedly and presses a kiss to Louis' collarbone. “Thank you? Well, you’re very welcome, baby, but I am pretty sure the pleasure was all mine.”

Louis snorts and it’s quiet between them as Louis cards his fingers through Harry’s hair. Harry glances at the clock, it’s only 3:00 in the afternoon.

“Niall’ll be back around 5, so we should be decent by then,” he comments drowsily.

Louis chuckles softly. “Yeah, we’ve traumatized that poor boy enough. Want to hop in the shower? We can do that, then maybe get some food?”

“Sure,” Harry reluctantly disentangles himself from Louis and stands up, stretching. He opens the closet door to grab some fresh towels and as he’s rummaging, spies the white shopping bag that he’d shoved to the back of the shelf. Without overthinking it, he grabs it and places it on top of the pile of towels he’s grabbed and backs out of the closet to Louis' appreciative whistle.

“Nice view,” he says as Harry dumps the towels on the bed and sits down, handing him the bag. “What’s this, babe?”

“It’s your birthday present,” Harry says. For some reason, anxiety is fluttering through his chest. “I actually bought it for you on your birthday but then…I don’t know. It got complicated. And honestly, I stuck it in the back of the closet and kind of forgot about it.”

Louis nods, and opens the bag, pulling out the tissue-wrapped item inside. He carefully pulls the paper apart and stares at it and then looks at Harry, open-mouthed. He untangles it and holds it up to the light. “It’s a windchime, thank you, Harry.” He examines it more closely and says, “Aww, look at the green and blue beads, it reminds me of that windchime we had, the one we got in Sausalito!” His voice is light, cheerful and all of a sudden, Harry can barely breathe.

And then Louis says, “Whatever happened to that, anyway?” and Harry feels like he’s been stabbed in the gut.

_Harry sits at the small table in the cramped kitchen of their Oakland apartment. It’s 2 am, and Louis had texted him 2 hours ago, saying he’d be home soon. He’s not home. Suddenly Harry hears a crash from the back balcony, and the tinkling of breaking glass. He throws open the door to the balcony to find Louis, tangled up in the beach chairs they have out there — they can’t afford real deck furniture and someone would probably steal it anyway — the shattered remains of the windchime scattered about him. He looks dazed, his eyes are red, and Harry knows instantly that he’s drunk. Again._

_“What are you doing?” His voice is even, calm._

_“Harry!” Louis waves from the mess that surrounds him. “Harry baby!” He stares at the blood trickling down his wrist. “Shit, babe, I think I hurt myself.”_

_Harry sighs, and, grasping Louis under the arms, hauls him to his feet. “Just, go inside, I’ll be in a minute.” He looks mournfully at the shards of green and blue glass that litter the balcony, the driftwood they’d been hanging from snapped in two, and remembers the day they’d taken a day trip to Sausalito their senior year, where they’d found it in a small shop. It had been far too much money for two broke college students to spend, but Louis had insisted, saying “When we get our place after graduation, we’ll hang it then,” and he’d kissed Harry in the fog and the rain._

_“Go on,” he says, not looking over his shoulder to where Louis is standing, swaying slightly in the doorway, “go inside, I’ll clean this up and then get you a bandaid.”_

_Louis hiccups and gives a sob, “M’sorry baby, so sorry,” he mumbles as he turns to go in._

_Harry sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose as he closes his eyes, “It’s okay, Lou, just...go in. We’ll talk tomorrow.”_

_He sweeps up the shards of their beautiful windchime, that he’d hung with such innocent excitement just over a year ago, and without looking at it again, dumps it into the trash. They don’t talk about it in the morning. They never talk about it. And two weeks later, Harry is on a plane to Boston. Alone._

Every ounce of pleasure he’s holding inside him drains away, and all of a sudden, he’s left feeling further away from Louis than ever. He remembers the joy he’d felt the day they’d bought that windchime, and even though it took fourteen days to die, he knows the death stroke for their relationship came the moment that windchime hit the ground. How can you restore something that’s been shattered? There’s no gold here, he thinks in despair, only broken glass.

Harry says in a strangled voice, “You broke it. Two weeks before I left. When you were drunk.” And walks out of the room.

On autopilot, he goes into the bathroom, turns the shower on, sits down on the edge of the tub while he waits for it to heat up and buries his face in his hands. He hears Louis come into the bathroom and suddenly wants nothing more than to be left alone.

“Harry, I…” Louis' voice trails off as he stands helplessly in front of him. “I...I don’t know what to say. Harry, please. Can you look at me?” His voice is gentle and confident, and suddenly Harry is furious.

He takes a deep breath. “I don’t know what I was thinking, getting that for you. What are we doing here, Louis?”

Louis is standing, frozen, and the fact that they’re both naked somehow makes it even more awful. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” Harry swallows past the lump in his throat. “I think...I need you to leave. I need a bit of time.”

“Time for what, exactly, Harry?” Louis' voice has gone hard and Harry feels his own anger start to spill over.

“I don’t know,” he shouts, leaping to standing, noting that Louis holds his ground.

“You can't just run away, or kick me out every time it gets hard!” Louis shouts back in frustration. “We can’t pretend that our past didn’t happen.”

“I know that.” Harry turns around and turns off the shower, mindful of wasting the hot water. He’s pretty sure he’s going to need a shower when this is done, and he’s going to need it hot. “I know that we can’t, but I just. I don’t know what to do with this, Louis, with all these fucking _landmines_ that are just lying in wait to detonate in my fucking face.”

“You’re not the only one getting blown apart, Harry,” Louis whispers. He looks...defeated, Harry thinks.

“I know that,” he says after a moment. “I do, Louis, but how do we do this? How do we move on? You don’t even remember that night, and it’s one of the worst memories I have of us. I don’t…” He raises his hands and lets them drop helplessly. “I don’t know how to do this. I thought I did, I thought it would be okay. But, you don’t remember, you don’t have to live with it.”

“Fuck you,” Louis breathes, “I live with it every fucking day, Harry. Yeah, I may not remember some of it, but I remember enough to know just exactly how much I fucked up, how I hurt you. I was awful to you. And I have no right to ask you to forgive me, but if you can’t, if you can’t find a way to that, then…” his voice trails off for a moment, and then comes back even more strongly, “Then I don’t see how we can do this.”

Harry stares at him for a long time, wordless and empty.

Louis stares back, pleading at first, but then his expression shifts to an awful, silent resignation. Then he simply nods, and turns, and walks out of the bathroom as Harry sinks down to his knees on the cheerful polkadot bathmat and cries.

Later Harry has no idea how long he spends on the bathmat. He finally manages to get himself off the floor and turns the shower back on. When he’s done washing the smell of Louis off of him, he wraps himself in a towel and heads into his room. Sitting in the middle of his bed is the windchime, and Louis is gone.

Undone again, Harry sinks down onto the bed, which is where Niall finds him later, lying in the dark of the late winter afternoon, holding the windchime and weeping.

He hears Niall’s cheerful whistling as he enters the apartment and starts turning lights on, and then Niall is standing is his doorway staring at him in alarm. He drops his messenger bag and hurries over to the bed, immediately sits down and pulls Harry into a hug. “Harry, what is it, what’s going on?”

Harry gasps, tries to calm down enough to tell Niall. “It’s, um. It’s Louis. I don’t think we’re going to make it work.”

Niall frowns, confused. “Um, not to be intrusive here, but it’s…” he flushes, “It’s kind of obvious you guys were having sex today, so what the hell happened?”

Harry rolls onto his back and Niall stands up, starts rummaging in his drawers and tosses him a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. “Put some clothes on, man, your goosebumps have goosebumps. I’m going to turn the heat up, get you a glass of water, and then we’re going to talk.”

As he exits the room, Harry says, “Make it wine, okay?”

Ten minutes later, they’re snuggled up on the couch under the quilt somebody’s mother had made. They each have a glass of wine in front of them, but Niall won’t let Harry have his until he’s drunk an entire glass of water. Finally, Harry takes a deep breath.

“So, you weren’t wrong. We did make love today, it was the first time.” He wonders if he should be embarrased by talking to Niall about this, but Niall only squeezes his knee. “But afterwards, something came up. I gave him the windchime that I bought for him, it was originally supposed to be for his birthday. And it made him remember that windchime that we got? From Sausalito?”

Niall nods. “Yeah, I remember that thing. Whatever happened to it?”

Harry gives a humorless laugh. “Funny you should ask that. That’s exactly what Louis said, because he had no memory of breaking it when he was blackout drunk. And all of a sudden it was like, it was all right back up here,” Harry taps his head, “And here,” he lays a hand on his heart, “And it just hurt like it was happening all over again.”

Niall just nods again.

“We had a fight, I guess you’d call it,” Harry continues. “I got so angry, Ni. I told him to go. And he told me that if I can’t find a way to forgive him, even if he doesn’t deserve it, then we can’t be together.”

“What did you say?”

Harry shrugs. “I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t, I didn’t know what to say. And then he left. _Goddamn it_ .” His voice breaks in frustration, “I was _over_ him, Niall, I was. I don’t want to feel like this anymore, and I feel so fucking trapped. Like, I know I can live and be...okay, I guess, without him. I built a pretty nice life for myself, you know?”

“I know you did,” Niall murmurs.

“But, there was something missing. And then this afternoon. It was perfect, Niall, it was so beautiful. And then it was over.”

Niall sighs deeply and pulls Harry into a tight hug. “I don’t know, Harry. I don’t know if that’s how love is gonna work for you, that Louis is it for you. But the thing is, I don’t think forgiveness is a one-time thing, not in something like this. I think it’s something you’re going to have to keep choosing to do, over and over again, every time something like this comes up.”

Harry frowns. “But, then it seems like I’m hanging it over his head, like he’ll never know when it’s going to come up.”

Here Niall shakes his head. “No, because you haven’t been doing that, right? The last few weeks, it seems like you guys had been living pretty much in the present, right? No bombshells?”

“Yeah...I guess.” Harry thinks back and agrees. “Yeah, I mean at dinner that night, I was a bit concerned about him being offered wine but we talked about it quickly and it was fine.”

“So what made this different?” Niall’s eyes are so blue in the light of the living room and Harry is suddenly infused with gratitude for his friend.

“I think…” Harry tries to puzzle his way through to understanding. “I think it’s because he didn’t remember. He had no idea that what he was saying was going to hurt me. I told him that I felt like I was stepping on landmines.”

“What did he say?”

“He said,” Harry sighs, “That I wasn’t the only one being blown apart.” He pauses and then asks, “So what do I do, Niall?”

“Well,” Niall says, once again being so wise and reasonable that Harry is stunned, “What do you need to do? Do you want to talk to him?”

“I don’t know.” Harry burrows under the blanket and rests his head on Niall’s shoulder. “I want to talk to him eventually. I just need to stop feeling like I’m bleeding out first.”

“Okay. I just think you should maybe let him know? That you are going to want to talk. I’m betting he was pretty gutted too, especially for him to just leave like that.”

Harry knows Niall is right. He sighs and picks up his phone. “What do I even say?”

Niall grabs the phone out of his hands, and keys in his passcode. He types something quickly, and hands it to Harry to review.

_Hey Louis, I know things blew up today. I do want to talk. I need a little time, I hope that’s okay. I’ll be in touch._

Harry nods, figures that’s better than anything he could come up with, and hits send. Ten minutes later he gets a return text that only says “OK.”

Harry’s not working the next day, and spends much of it lying starfished across his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He also gets on his laptop and spends some time googling forgiveness, trying to figure out what it even means.

He tells this to Niall, who snorts and says, “Well, once a philosophy major, always a philosophy major, I guess, Harry.”

Finally at about 6:00 he decides he probably needs to take a shower and get some dinner. Niall’s at work, so he decides just to go to Panera. He’s sitting in the window eating his grilled cheese and tomato soup when he looks out onto the plaza and of course, who does he see but Louis, making his way across the parking lot.

He doesn’t look happy, Harry thinks, but he doesn’t look upset either. He looks distant and untouchable, entirely self-contained, and for a brief moment, all Harry wants to do is rewind back to that moment yesterday and respond differently. Then a wave of pain pulses over him again, and he puts his sandwich down, wipes his eyes. When he looks up, Louis is gone.

Over the next few days, Harry struggles with what to do. Does he call Louis? Text him? Does he pull a Lloyd Dobbler and show up at his house holding a boombox? Where would he even get a boombox in this day and age? Every time he thinks about taking an action, he feels paralyzed. He can’t let go, and he can’t move forward. He knows, he really does know that that distancing himself from Louis is the absolute worst choice to be making right now, but Louis hasn’t made any attempt to contact him either.

Things are horrifically awkward at work, of course. Harry does his time at the grill, and instead of hanging out after he’s done, flees the premises as soon as he’s closed his station, and once or twice actually ponders taking Julian up on his offer of a spot in one of his kitchens.

Things come to a head in his mind on Sunday. He’s walking in for his Sunday brunch shift and all of a sudden, he can’t stand it any more. He stops in the middle of the sidewalk, eliciting a curse from the woman behind him, which he ignores. He yanks his phone out of his pocket and sends Louis a quick text.

_I’m sorry for being distant and weird. Can we talk?_

He hits send and waits eagerly for a minute or two, but no answering three dots appear, so he shoves his phone back into his pocket and continues on his way to work.

He’s in the back kitchen prepping the waffle batter, as it’s almost time to open, when Niall comes in at a hurried pace, looking flustered.

“Harry, hey,” he says, looking distracted, “Have you heard anything from Louis?”

Harry shakes his head. “No. I did, um, I texted him like an hour ago, but I don’t think I’ve heard anything.” He sets down the stainless steel mixing bowl and pulls his phone out. No text from Louis.

“No, nothing, why?”

“Well,” Niall looks concerned and frustrated, “He’s on today as usual, and he’s not here. He hasn’t called or sent a message or anything, and that’s not like him at all. He’s as dependable as, well, you.”

Harry feels an anxious flutter in his midsection. Louis had always been reliable and so considerate about letting Harry know where he was, when he was going to be arriving anywhere, until...he’d started drinking. Oh god, he worries, chewing at his lip, what if the fight with Harry had made him start drinking again? Or something worse? The awful feeling in his gut intensifies.

Niall is talking as he tunes back in, “Yeah, so now I’m down a bartender and I’m worried about a friend. I tried calling but it went straight to voicemail. I don’t really know what else to do. I’ll take the stick for him, but damnit, I hope he shows up soon.”

But as the brunch shift goes by, Louis doesn’t come in, and he doesn’t call. The anxious feeling in Harry’s gut is now solidified into dread. Something is wrong, something has to be wrong. Louis wouldn’t skip a work shift unless he had no other choice, which means...Harry tries to shut down his worry, but he can’t help it. Finally, he’s done at 3:00, handing off the grill to Mikey. He finishes his restocking, and rushes into the staff room to change. He has no idea what he can do now. He’s called and left Louis three messages, each one more upset than the last, and he’s gotten no response. He’s sent a few texts too, with the same result.

He's sitting at the bar sipping a Bloody Mary when the phone rings, which is not an unusual occurrence. He has no idea, as Niall answers the phone with a cheerful “Hamburger Mary’s, home of the perfect burger,” that this will forever be the dividing line in his life between _before_ and _after._ He has no idea what’s to come until he sees Niall go pale as he listens to whomever is on the other end of that phone line. It’s as if all the noise has been sucked out of the room as Harry sets his drink down and gets to his feet, eyes on Niall’s devastated face and the only thing he hears is Niall’s choked “Oh my god. No.” And then simply, “Louis.”

The room seems to spin around Harry as Niall finishes the conversation, writes something down on the pad next to him, says a strangled, “Thanks, man. And yeah, he’s here...I’ll tell him.” Niall hangs up and blanches when he sees Harry’s face.

“Harry, sit down.”

Harry stumbles, sits, reaches out imploring hands to Niall. “Is he alive? Niall, fuck, tell me, is he okay?”

Niall reaches over the bar, grabs Harry’s hands, grounding him, solid and warm in Harry’s grasp. “He’s alive, Harry. C’mon man, breathe, you’re going to pass out.”

Harry gasps in a breath, heart pounding in his ears. He’s not sure he can bear this, but he has to know. “What happened, Ni? Did he…” his voice trails off and he can’t say the words he’s thinking. _Did he use? Did he OD?_

Niall takes a deep breath. “He had a bike accident this morning, half a block from his house over on Elm Street. He was between a car and a bus, and the fucking idiot opened her car door without looking and he went right into it and bounced off the bus.”

_Harry heads down Louis' porch steps, and stops to kiss him thoroughly._

_“Last night was amazing, babe,” he whispers and feels Louis' grin against his mouth. “Have an amazing class. Knock ‘em dead, Harvard man.”_

_“You too, Harry,” Louis says. He reluctantly separates from Harry and disappears around the side of the house, reappearing a moment later, trundling his bike. He slings his bag across his body and they make their way out to the sidewalk._

_“Hey,” Harry frowns, “Where’s your helmet?”_

_Louis rolls his eyes, “Dropped it at Porter, it went all the way down the long escalator, cracked right down the middle. I haven’t had time to get a new one yet.”_

_“Louis,” Harry says, exasperated. “You need to make time, it’s not safe. It’s not like California, people here are nuts.”_

_Louis presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek and hops on his bike. “I know, baby, I know. I’ll get one next week.”_

It hits Harry that he never followed up with Louis to make sure he’d gotten a new one.

“What happened, Niall, please.”

“That was Liam, he said that things looked rough for awhile, I guess he was…” Niall swallows audibly, “He was unconscious for most of the day. He’s got a broken collarbone, and a broken leg. And he had a...fuck, what did Liam call it? Something with one of his lungs, so he had to get a chest tube? I guess he’s also got a fuck-ton of bruises and possibly a mild concussion, but thank god he was wearing his helmet. Liam said that he could have been killed.”

Could have been killed. Could have been _killed._ The words echo in Harry’s ears and all of a sudden, he cannot stand to be here, where here is anywhere that Louis isn’t, one moment longer than necessary.

“Where is he?”

“What?” Niall looks surprised at Harry’s abrupt question. “He’s in the hospital, Harry. He’s gonna be there for a bit.”

“Niall,” Harry does his best not to rip his own hair out in frustration, “This is fucking Boston, and there are approximately _eight thousand_ hospitals in the 617. _Which hospital, Niall.”_

“Oh,” Niall pulls out his cell phone. “Liam said he’d text me the info.” He checks his messages and then says, “Okay, I forwarded it to you. But Harry, do you think going over there is the right thing to do? I mean, do you think he’s going to want to see you?”

Harry grabs his stuff. He wonders if this is how it feels to put on the proper prescription glasses after a lifetime of not seeing clearly.

“Niall, honestly, I don’t really care. I have to see him, I have to make sure he’s okay.”

“Okay,” Niall says, “Well, send him my love. And, Harry,” his voice is completely sincere, “Good luck.”

Harry nods, and walks quickly out the door. Louis is at MGH, so he hops on the red line, sprinting down the escalator, pushing his way impatiently through the ticket gate and onto the long escalator down to the tracks. He waits impatiently, tapping his fingers on his thighs.

_Could have died, could have died, could have died._

He can’t stop the words running through his head or the panic rising in his heart, so he doesn’t even try, just stands, clutching onto the pole like a lifeline. He can feel the anxiety vibrating in his bones, and he just needs to get to Louis, needs to see him now.

All of a sudden, the past fades away. His anger, his hurt, his confusion, it’s not that they’ve disappeared, but they’ve become muted somehow, drowned out by his fear of losing this man that he loves so deeply, so powerfully. Louis burns so bright, Harry cannot conceive of a world without him in it, and it’s hitting him, hard, how close he may have to come to that devastating reality.

When the train finally pulls into the Charles MGH station, Harry sprints off the subway car and down the steps, making his way frantically up Charles Street to the massive hospital complex. When he gets to the main entrance, he steps to the side and texts Liam.

 _H:_ _What room?_

 _L:_ _12West, Room 228. Are you here?_

 _H:_ _On my way up_.

Harry shoves his phone back into his packet and enters the enormous building. He follows the signs to the west wing, and takes the elevator to the 12th floor, almost unable to contain himself in his fear. He steps off the elevator and is looking frantically for the correct direction when he hears from behind him,

“Harry.” Liam is coming down the hallway. He looks wrecked, Harry thinks, as Liam pulls him into a tight embrace.

Harry pauses, clings to Liam’s strong back for a moment. “How,” he coughs and clears his throat, “How is he, Li?”

Liam guides Harry back down the hallway and sighs. “He’s okay. In a lot of pain, refusing heavy duty painkillers on principle even though he never had an issue with narcotics, but he…” He stops abruptly, and then says, “Well, anyway. He’s banged up. They’re saying he’s going to need surgery for the leg, the collarbone was, shit, what did the doc call it? A nondisplaced fracture. I guess that means a clean break but that’s probably 8 weeks to heal. This is going to fuck up the rest of this semester for him, for sure. And I have no idea what he’s going to be able to do for work.”

As they walk down the hall, Harry’s heart is beating faster and faster. “Niall said maybe a concussion?”

“Yeah,” Liam runs a hand through his cropped curls. “Mild. He didn’t go head first into the bus, fuck, can you imagine, but he took a hard knock on the pavement. Thank god he was wearing his helmet. He told me he just got it on Thursday. He told me,” Liam coughs and glances sideways at Harry, “That you told him to get it. That you were worried about him biking around without it.”

Thursday, Harry thinks. After their fight. Louis bought it after their fight.

“He, um,” Liam flushes, “Like, I know it’s not really my business, but he told me what happened with you guys. On Wednesday. I think it’ll mean a lot to him that you’re here.”

Harry nods. “All of a sudden, that stuff? It doesn’t seem so important anymore. I’m glad he had you to talk to.”

Liam is silent for a moment and then says, “He was...in a rough place on Wednesday, so he called me and Zayn.”

Harry drops his eyes, heart breaking. “Yeah,” is all he can say and then they’re at the door marked 228. Liam goes in first, knocking lightly and opening the door.

“Found him, Lou,” he says cheerfully as they enter the room. Zayn is sitting next to the bed, holding Louis' hand and they’re talking in low voices.

Harry stops a few feet away from the bed, and looks at Louis, really looks at him.

He’s in a hospital gown, and has a temporary stabilizing brace on one leg, and his arm is in a sling. They’ve shaved a patch of his hair, and he’s got stitches standing out in stark relief against the too-pale skin of his temple. He’s developing a spectacular black eye and looks tiny propped up in the hospital bed.

“Oh Lou,” Harry whispers and Louis looks at him with a weak smile.

Zayn gives Louis' hand another squeeze, and then stands. “We’ll just go downstairs and grab some food, okay, Louis? Harry, text us when you’re headed out.”

As they let themselves out, Harry nervously approaches the bed and slides into the chair Zayn just vacated. He and Louis stare at each other for a moment and then start to speak at the same time.

Louis laughs a bit, and then winces in pain. “Go ahead, H,” and Harry’s heart brightens at the nickname. Maybe all is not yet lost; maybe there is still hope for them.

“Oh god, Louis,” he says, and to his horror, his voice cracks. He takes a deep breath to regain control and then tries again. “I am so sorry this happened to you, and anything you need, whatever you need, I’m here to help you, if, you know,” he looks down at his hands, twisted together in his lap, “if you still want me.”

Louis sighs, and Harry can see the suffering radiating off of him. “Harry, I don’t think there will ever be a point in time where I don’t want you. And, fuck, I really can’t have this conversation right now.”

Harry nods. “Can they give you something for the pain? Liam said you weren’t taking anything?”

“Nothing beyond Tylenol. I felt like I was too close to the edge, I didn’t want to risk it.”

Harry closes his eyes, because this is his fault. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m sorry it took you getting hurt for me to understand clearly what I want.”

They’re interrupted by a nurse, who sizes up the situation. “I know you said you don’t want the pain meds,” she says, “But I’m telling you, your body needs to rest and you need to sleep. You look a bit better, sweetheart, do you feel like you can handle them?”

Louis closes his eyes, nods. “I never had an issue with narcotics, I just didn’t want to risk it.”

The nurse says, “Let me give you just a little morphine and a little IV Valium. It’s gonna make a world of difference.”

Louis looks at her, and then at Harry sitting next to him, and something in his eyes eases. He nods, and within moments of her adding the medications to the IV, the lines around his mouth ease and he sinks back onto the pillow.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, “this shit’s gonna make me loopy, isn’t it.”

The nurse checks his pulse and says, “Hopefully it’s just gonna make you sleep, sweetheart. Your body needs rest.” She turns to Harry, “Give your boyfriend a kiss now because he’s gonna be seriously out of it soon.” She doesn’t wait for his reply, but exits the room abruptly.

Louis' eyes are drooping now, and he gives Harry a small, goofy smile. “Gonna give me a kiss, boyfriend?”

Harry take a deep breath, can’t help but ask, “Am I, Lou? Am I still your boyfriend?”

As Louis' eyes close, he snorts a bit as he mumbles, “No other boyfriend for me. Know you’re mad at me, Harry, but you’ll always be mine. Always.” And with that he drifts into sleep with Harry pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Harry indulges himself by just sitting in the chair, watching the rise and fall of Louis' chest, assuring himself that Louis is still here, still breathing. That he will be okay. After a while, he texts Liam.

 _H:_ _He’s asleep._

 _L:_ _Okay, we’ll head back up._

About 10 minutes later, the door opens slowly and Liam peeks his head in. Harry stands and joins them in the hall.

All of a sudden, it hits him. “Fuck,” he gasps and pulls out his phone to start scrolling frantically through his contacts.

Liam looks concerned. “What is it, Harry?’

“Jay, I have to call Jay!”

Liam puts a hand on his arm. “Hold up, Harry. It’s okay. She’s on her way. The hospital contacted her and she and I spoke too.”

“How did they get in touch with you?” Harry cannot help the flare of jealousy in his gut. Louis is _his. Harry_ should be his emergency contact. _Harry_ should have been called.

“I’m in his phone as his ICE contact,” Liam says calmly. “I know we’ve only been friends since August, but you can get very close to people in the program. He asked me a few months ago if he could list me. So the hospital called me this morning when he came in by ambulance.”

The shock hits Harry again. He stares at Liam and starts to shake. “How close was it, really, Li? Are you sure he’s going to be okay?” He knows he’s pleading for an answer there’s no way that Liam can give, but he needs something, anything to hold on to.

Zayn says quietly, “Take a deep breath, man, you’re freaking.”

Harry fights to inhale and Liam carefully rubs his back. “I think he was really lucky,” Liam says finally. “It could have been worse. Much worse. The doc came out and said that he’s most likely going to be okay but he’s got a lot of work ahead of him. Having the busted collarbone and the leg at the same time is going to suck.” Liam shakes his head. “Thank god he lives on the first floor, but I have no idea how school is going to work. Anyway, his mom’ll be here tomorrow, and we can start getting this worked out.”

Suddenly Harry wonders where his role in all of this will be. Louis was flying high when he said that Harry was still his, will he still mean that when he’s not under the influence of the pain meds? There’s still more to be cleared out between them. And now Jay is coming too?

Harry knows he’s being a little bit ridiculous, but says it anyway, “Sounds like you and Jay will have it all under control.” He shoves his phone in his pocket and grabs his bag to get ready to go home.

Liam just shrugs. “Harry, it’s not my place to speak about your relationship with Louis, but I’m not sure that you...fully understand that he’s not exactly the same person he was when you knew him. I know how important you are to him, but you hurt him this week. Really hurt him. You have the right to feel however you feel, and god knows, I understand that people do things when they’re messed up that others can’t forgive.”

His jaw tightens and he blinks hard. Zayn moves closer from where he was standing a few feet away and wraps his arm around Liam’s shoulders.

“But at some point, Harry, you’re going to have to make a decision, if you’re in this with him or not. If you are, it’s just not...Harry, it’s just not...kind to bail out when it gets hard.”

Harry’s eyes narrow. He does not appreciate being lectured by someone who doesn’t even really know him, and certainly doesn’t know him and Louis together. He’s about to open his mouth and say this when his phone chimes with several incoming texts.

 _N:_ _Hey, Harry, what’s the news? Did you get to see him? You on your way home?_

And the other makes his eyes water.

 _Jay:_ _Harry, hey. I hope this is still your number. I’m on United flight 5514, I’ll be landing tomorrow at 7:30. I’m hoping to see you, there's a lot to talk about. Love you, sweetheart. Can’t wait to see you._

Harry just stares at the phone, his vision blurring. After a long moment, he looks at Liam.

“Liam, I think you’re trying to help because you love Louis, and I get it. But you don’t really know what went down between us.” But then, all of a sudden, it occurs to Harry in this moment, of all people, it seems like maybe Liam Payne might, in fact, be the best person to talk to about this mess. He sees the honest concern shining in Liam’s eyes and lets down his defense.

“How do you do it? How do you let go of the past, and all the hurt? I want to but I’m scared I can’t. I love him, Liam, and I’m _in love_ with him, but I don’t know if I can do this.”

It hits Harry that this is the first time he’s said these words aloud in years. He loves Louis. He’s in love with Louis. He hears Liam sigh. He looks exhausted, and suddenly Harry is aware that he’s been here with Louis all day.

“Shit, man, I’m so sorry, you’re done in, the last thing you need to do right now is talk.”

“No,” Liam says, “how about this? Let’s go get dinner, that food in the cafeteria looked disgusting so we didn’t eat. I’ve been mainlining coffee all day, so I’m not going to sleep any time soon. We can sit and talk. Zayn? Does that work?”

Zayn nods and they head towards the elevators to leave.

They wind up at the Burren in Davis Square, and manage to snag a table. Harry had been shocked to see that it was already 8:00 when they were exiting to T. They order food and Harry pauses to check in with the other two, “Is it cool if I have a beer? I don’t have to, but I’d just...kind of like one.”

They both smile and say it’s fine, and then there’s a moment of awkward silence.

Then Liam speaks. “I don’t think I’m actually the person you want to talk about this with, Harry.”

Harry is confused until Liam turns to Zayn. “Baby, you want to weigh in on this?”

Zayn looks down at the table for a moment and then nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.” Liam leans against him, tucks an arm around his slender shoulders, and Harry feels a bolt of envy pass through him at their easy touch.

“So,” Zayn says quietly, “Liam was still drinking when we met.”

Harry’s eyes are wide. “I thought you met in the program?”

Zayn shakes his head. “No, I go to support him, but I don’t drink, never have.” He smiles a bit, “I’m not particularly devout, but yeah. And my dad.” He stops for a moment. “My dad was a mean drunk. So I never have. But, like, it didn’t bother me when other people did it, so at first, with Li, it didn’t seem like a problem. He drank like a lot of college students do, except after a while, I began to get uncomfortable with it.”

Harry is fascinated. He hadn’t realized that their history went so far back.

“And like, Li, he’s a friendly drunk, you know, like a puppy or something, stumbling over his own feet.” Here Zayn ruffles Liam’s hair affectionately and Harry smiles in spite of himself.

“So over the first couple of years I knew him, it just got so he was drinking more and more. First weekends. Then weekdays. Pregaming. Bloodies on Sundays. The hair of the dog, you know?”

Harry nods. He does know.

“We weren’t even dating then, I thought he was straight, we were just really good friends from the moment they put us together in that shitty freshman dorm, remember, Li?”

Liam smiles, but his eyes are sad as Zayn tells his story.

“Li was dating Sophia at that point, and she and I were really close friends too.”

Liam’s jaw tightens and Harry really doesn’t want to hear what comes next.

“She would talk to me a lot, and by the time we were starting our junior year, she was getting really fed up with it.”

“Rightly so,” Liam interjects, “I was a dick.”

“The night things blew up, Li’d been drinking all day, and then he insisted we go to this frat party. It wasn’t my scene, and it sure as shit wasn’t Soph’s, but I was worried about him, we both were. Long story short, some guy was a prick to Sophia, Liam jumped in and punched the guy, his bros jumped Liam, and beat the crap out of him, and when Li got out of the hospital, Sophia broke up with him.”

Harry is obscurely offended on Liam’s behalf. “But, you were fighting for her! Why did she dump you?”

Liam looks Harry in the eyes. “Keep in mind, I’d spent well over a year getting more and more lost. I wouldn’t call, I’d forget to go to things. I puked in the bed. I missed her orchestra concert where she had a solo because I was drunk. She broke up with me because she told me that she knew I loved her, but she felt like I loved alcohol more. She asked me to quit drinking.” The sadness on his face tugs at Harry’s heart, “And I said no. Called her an asshole and threw her out of the hospital room. Because one of my so-called party friends had snuck me in a bottle and I was shitfaced.”

Harry stares at Liam, trying to reconcile this gentle, soft spoken man with the story Zayn is telling. “So, how did you…” he waves a hand at the two of them, where they’re cuddled together in the booth, “how did this happen?”

Liam takes over, his voice steady as he tells the story. “So, by the end of junior year, I was really in trouble. U Mass sent my midterm grades to my parents and they were...not good. My folks freaked out, showed up, and found me passed out. They pulled me out of school, and sent me to High Point for detox and rehab. Then they told me to get a job and figure out what I wanted to do with my life. They spent the next year randomly drug testing me. After too long of this, I decided that I wanted to go back to school, but I went to Northeastern and commuted in, didn’t live on campus. Then one day,” and here his face softens at the memory, a smile dancing around his eyes, “I ran into Zayn on the red line. He was living in Davis Square, working, thinking about law school.”

“The first thing he said to me that day on the train was, ‘I’m sober, I’m working on it, and I miss you,’” Zayn chimes in. “We started spending time together and one thing kinda led to another…”

“Including me realizing I wasn’t anywhere near as straight as I’d thought in high school,” Liam adds, “And that I was actually head over heels in love with my best friend.”

“Weren’t you scared, though?” Harry asks Zayn intently, “That he’d drink again, or do something to let you down?”

Zayn smiles kindly at Harry. “I know our story’s a bit different, because we weren’t dating at that time, but yeah, I was scared. Soph wasn’t the only one who got hurt by Li’s drinking. But I loved Li, and I wanted to be with him more than I was scared of him hurting me. And the thing is, of course he’s going to let me down, just like I’m going to let him down sometimes too, because we’re human and we make mistakes and screw up. But Li had already proved himself to me when we started dating, Harry. He’d been sober for a long time, he was going to meetings, he invited me into his world, and he showed me time and time again that he was there for me, and that he was willing to do the work.”

Harry sits back, mind spinning as it hits him. He’s continued to blame Louis for their shared past, and he thinks that maybe he hasn’t fully let Louis in as the man he is now, a man with years of sobriety and hard work on himself to his credit. A man who has been nothing but loving and supportive to Harry. A man who has proven that he can stay the course and, how had Zayn put it? Do the work. Harry wonders if the same can be said about himself.

“Niall said something to me that I’ve been thinking about,” he says tentatively, “That because of our history, forgiveness isn’t going to be a one-time thing, that it’s going to need to happen over and over again.”

Liam and Zayn both nod, listening hard.

“And with the conversations we’ve had, each time I’ve felt like ‘well, now _that’s_ over.’ So I wasn’t expecting to get hit so hard when he forgot about the windchime.”

Zayn looks confused while Liam just nods.

Harry explains, “We went to Sausalito for my birthday, our senior year, and we found this gorgeous wind chime, and we couldn’t afford it, it was ridiculous, but we bought it anyway, for our first home together. And then a couple of weeks before I left, when it was bad, Louis pulled it down and smashed it to pieces while he was drunk. I was so angry, so hurt, you know?”

Liam simply nods as Zayn asks curiously, “How do you feel about it now?”

Harry takes a moment, searches within himself, pictures Louis lying, so small and broken on that hospital bed.

“It’s just a thing,” he hears himself say finally. “Yeah, it sucked, and it hurt me a lot, but he was in such trouble, and honestly, I will regret it for the rest of my life that I didn’t push back sooner, that I didn’t tell him that I _knew_ he was in trouble. That I put my head in the sand and ignored what was going on right in front of me. All I could think today, when Niall told me what had happened, was what if I lost him? What if he _died_ thinking that I didn’t love him? Thinking that he wasn’t the most important person in the world to me, when he is? He is.”

Harry’s heart is heavy and then he says it, the shameful secret that’s been eating at him all day. “My first thought, when Niall said his name on the phone, and I knew, I _knew_ that something was horribly wrong, all I could think was that he’d OD’d. Like, how shitty am I? That’s a horrible thing to think about someone. And if that’s my first thought, then maybe I don’t really trust him. How can I be with him if I don’t trust him? It’s not fair to him, to either of us, is it?”

Zayn just laughs though. “Harry, you guys have only been back together for a few months. That trust is going to take time.”

“And,” Liam seems to be debating something in his head, and then says, “I think it would be okay with Louis if I told you this, because he told me he was going to tell you when you guys talked.”

Harry’s heart beats a bit easier at that statement, that Louis had been sure enough to know that they would talk again.

“When Louis left you on Tuesday, he went to the liquor store and he bought a bottle.”

Harry freezes, stares at Liam and then closes his eyes, heart breaking.

Liam sighs, “Harry, whatever you’re thinking, remember, Louis is an adult, with tools to manage his issues, and you’re not responsible for his choices, okay? He didn’t drink. He went home, thought about it for a while, then called me at work and asked me to come over, which I did. He dumped the bottle and we talked, a lot, about what was going on.”

Harry wants to ask for more details but is pretty sure Liam won’t tell him, which Liam confirms.

“You’re going to need to talk to him, and it’s like I said. I think you need to figure out if you’re willing to commit to this or not. And tell him.”

“But how can I commit when I don’t know what the next landmine is going to be?” Harry runs a hand through his hair in frustration, “How can I commit to something when I don’t know what’s coming next?”

At that, Zayn, inexplicably, starts to laugh. “Harry,” he says, with such fondness tinging his voice that Harry looks at him in surprise, “That is always going to be true, in any relationship, isn’t it? I mean, at least you guys know the general area of where your landmines are, right? There’s always going to be conflict, things that you have to work out. But you have to decide, you have to make a choice here, which is either you’re committing to do that work when it’s needed, or not.”

And suddenly, Harry thinks, he gets it, he gets what they’ve been trying to tell him, Niall, Zayn, Liam, even Louis. Being with Louis is a choice, and it’s going to take some hard work, because he has to take all of Louis if he takes him at all. He’s going to have to trust that Louis is not the same as he was before, that he’s grown and learned, and that hopefully Harry has too. That they can forgive each other and work things out because they’ve made that commitment to each other already. And he wants that, Harry thinks, because in spite of it all, maybe even because of it, he loves Louis beyond all reason, and Louis is worth it.

He looks up then, and finds Liam and Zayn just watching him carefully, and when they see the look on his face, Zayn just nods, and Liam smiles.

“I need to tell him,” he says.

Liam agrees, “Yeah, but maybe wait until he’s off the heavy-duty pain killers, man. He’s not going to remember.”

So Harry waits. His reunion the next day with Jay is both excruciatingly awkward and wonderful, and he feels another piece of his dislocated heart click back into place when she wraps him in her warm embrace and just holds him.

After a long moment, she eases back, eyes suspiciously bright. “Oh Harry, look at you. You’ve gotten so big.” She sounds so much like a mother that Harry laughs in spite of the circumstances.

“It’s so, so good to see you,” he whispers, and she yanks him in for another hug.

“C’mon,” she says finally, “Let’s go see our boy.”

They walk into the room to find Louis sitting propped half-way, looking grumpy. When he sees his mom, his face just collapses and Harry hovers awkwardly by the door while Jay holds Louis as he cries.

“Mom,” he whispers finally, “Mom, I missed you so much.”

Jay wipes away his tears with a swipe of her thumb and says, “Me too, baby.”

Louis sees Harry and smiles tremulously at him. “Hey, Harry,” he whispers, and the tension between them is obvious.

Jay stands. “I’m going to go talk to your nurses, baby, figure out what the plan is. I’ll give you two a moment to...chat.” She plants another kiss on Louis and adds, “And don’t think we’re not going to have words about this, young man. You know you’re not allowed to break yourself.”

Louis laughs a bit damply and says, “Not my fault this time, mom, I swear.” His eyes track her as she leaves the room and then he turns to look at Harry.

“God, I know I’m a grown man but Jesus, sometimes it's just nice to have your mom there.”

Harry stays still where he’s standing in the doorway. “How are you feeling today?”

Louis frowns. “Shitty night,” he says honestly. “Sorry I, err, conked out on you.”

In spite of the anxiety he’s feeling, Harry grins. “S’okay. You were pretty cute.”

“Oh god,” Louis blushes, “What did I say? I don’t really remember, it’s a bit of a blur.”

Harry grins, looks down. “Nothing much really, just, you know.” He takes a deep breath. “The nurse called me your boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Louis is silent for a moment, and then asks again, “What did I say?”

“You said…” Harry takes a deep breath, “You said I was. That I was yours.”

Harry can’t read Louis' expression as he says “And how did that make you feel?”

Harry crumples, lurches forward to drop into the chair next to the bed where Louis is propped up. He slumps, leaning his head down onto Louis' hip and his voice is muffled as he says, “Relieved. Glad. Hopeful.”

He feels Louis' hand come and rest lightly on his head, not moving, just offering the simple comfort of a gentle touch. After another long moment, Harry sighs and sits up, peering closely at Louis, who looks exhausted, deep circles under his eyes, his hair limp and falling messily over his forehead. He looks, Harry thinks, beautiful, and broken.

Louis doesn’t say anything, just watches Harry with that steady gaze, and Harry wonders when that happened, when Louis, his fiery impulsive love, had become so steadfast and reliable.

“Is there, Louis? Is there hope for us?”

Louis holds his gaze and then nods slowly and says, “Yes, if you want there to be.”

This is it, Harry thinks. So clearly this can’t be the moment when they’re going to talk it through, hash it out, figure out a way forward for their relationship. But this is the moment where Harry, after having been up all night thinking about it, thinks he finally knows what he wants, what he wants to ask for. Now all he needs are the words.

“Louis, I’ve been thinking. A lot. I talked a lot with Liam and Zayn and...yeah, I’ve been thinking. I know you’re exhausted and in pain and whatever, but I have to say this. You don’t have to say anything, just...listen, okay?”

Louis nods again, not taking his eyes off of Harry.

“I think I understand things a bit better now. You might not be ready to say it, but I need you to hear this right now. You don’t have to say it back. But I love you, Louis. I’m _in love_ with you. Yeah, there's hard stuff between us, but that’s not all of it, Louis, not even close. And Niall helped me to understand, that forgiveness, it isn’t a one-time act. It’s a choice. Committing to you, loving you, it’s not just a feeling, though the way you make me feel, so often it’s incredible, Lou. The most amazing feeling in the world. And I’ll wait as long as you need until you’re ready to say it to me.

“Loving you is a choice I make, to stay when it’s hard. It’s a choice to believe that you have my back. That you have my best interests at heart, just like I have yours. And here’s the thing,” and at that, Louis' lips quirk into a smile, easing the pain lines radiating from the corners of his mouth, “I choose you, Louis. Today. Tomorrow. Forever. I choose you, if you’ll have me. And I know, if we choose each other, promise to _keep on_ choosing each other, I know we can make it through anything, even our past.”

Heart pounding, Harry stops. It’s all or nothing now, isn’t it? He’s shown his hand, laid his cards out on the table. All he can do is wait, eyes helplessly focused on Louis.

And then, Louis smiles. In spite of the pain, in spite of the uncertainty facing him, he smiles, strong and clear like a lighthouse, shining out hope through a turbulent sky.

And then he speaks, says just the one word, and Harry feels his heart take flight. If Louis is the beacon on the shore guiding him home, then he is the ship sailing out of the storm into safer waters.

Louis says only, “Okay.”


	5. Chapter 5

**MARCH 2018 (continued)**

Over the next few weeks, Harry and Louis shift into their new normal. Jay stays for a week to support Louis through the surgery to pin his leg, but has to get back to the babies, and can’t stay to see him released from the hospital. She gives Harry instruction after instruction on how best to take care of Louis and extorts Harry’s promise to text her “Every day, Harry, twice a day. More, if you need to.”

Louis is released from the hospital 8 days later, and Harry is there to help him get home. Because of the collarbone break, Louis won’t be weight-bearing on crutches for at least six weeks, and after some discussion with Niall, they decide that the easiest thing will be for Harry to stay with Louis until he’s back on his feet again. Louis' landlord has put in a temporary ramp, and Louis has short-term disability insurance which will cover his lost income. 

The adjustment is difficult at times. Louis chafes at the confinement and hates the dependency he has on others to meet even his most basic needs. He tries his best to be grateful and appreciative, but Harry can tell, as time passes, that he’s getting more and more antsy and frustrated with his situation. 

**APRIL 2018**

One afternoon, almost two weeks after Louis is released from the hospital, Harry arrives home for his afternoon class to find Louis sitting on the couch, the remains of a pizza sitting on the coffee table in front of him, and tucked up on the couch next to Louis is —

“— Mom?”

Anne smiles serenely at Harry. “Hey sweetheart, how was class?”

“Um,” Harry says, “Did I forget a date? Were we getting together?”

He moves around the coffee table to give his mother a hug, and smiles at Louis. “Hey Lou, how was the day? How was PT?”

Louis smiles wanly. “It was okay, Mac was a demon with the fucking straight leg raises. I’m really sore. Your mom called and asked if she could come by, and, well, I’m not really going anywhere.”

“Okay,” Harry says uncertainly. 

His mother stands up, says to Louis, “send me that info, okay, sweetheart? I’ll get it into my calendar.”

Sweetheart? Harry feels confused. Why is his mother here? What info is she asking for? Why is she calling Louis “sweetheart”?

“What’s going on?” Harry finally asks as his mother picks up her coat from where it’s laying across the back of the chair, slips it on and scoops up her purse off of the floor.

She wraps him in a hug, and says, “I had some time today and I’ve been wanting to reconnect with Louis, especially now. Okay, darling, I’m off, I’ve got to get home.” She presses a warm kiss to his cheek and swipes away the lipstick stain immediately after. “I’ll call you this weekend, okay, baby? Maybe you and Louis can come out for dinner after work on Sunday.”

She bustles out the door, leaving behind a wake of silence and the scent of her perfume in the hallway. Harry stands still for a moment, staring bemusedly at the closed door and then, shaking his head, returns to the living room where Louis is still stretched out on the couch, his broken and braced leg resting on a pillow. He’s finding the enforced immobility more and more difficult as the days go by. They’re just over three weeks into what is most likely going to be solid 8 weeks in the wheelchair, and Harry can see the frustration lurking behind his eyes, though he’s working hard to be cheerful.

They’ve worked out a system, where he, Niall, Zayn and Liam rotate out who’s spending time with Louis during the days. Louis had had a moment of despair about school, but his professors, surprisingly enough for law faculty, had bent over backwards to help him figure out a way to finish the semester. Apparently being in the top 5% of your class (as well as being hit by a bus) leaves your professors more inclined to cut you some slack. He’s clearly popular with the other students as well, so they’ve got a roster of people to help get him to and from class. Louis had sheepishly admitted to Harry the night before that, especially now that his pain levels were so much lower and he wasn’t taking much pain medication at all, he was actually doing even better than he had been “because all I really can do now is study, H.”

Harry flops into the big green chair-and-a-half that is his favorite place to lounge in the apartment. He glances at Louis, who’s picked up the remote and is flipping on the tv.

“How’s your day, love?”

Louis shrugs and winces. “S’okay. Got that essay done. Sent Li home when your mom came over.”

“Yeah, how, exactly, did that come about?” Harry tips his head back and closes his eyes. 

“Dunno, she called.” Harry can hear the surprise in Louis' voice. When they’d been together before, Louis hadn’t been anywhere near as close to Harry’s family as Harry had been to his, simply by virtue of geography, but he’d come out and visited more than once, and he and Anne had always gotten on well. 

“What did she want?”

Humor floods Louis' tone in response. “Well, I think she was wondering if my intentions were honorable towards you.”

‘What?” Harry sits bolt upright, rolling his eyes in annoyance. Mothers. 

“I think so. Basically she just said that she knew you and I were working hard to be together, that she was really interested in getting to know me again, and...she offered to be part of the pit crew.”

“Oh really?” Harry leaned slowly back against the chair. Because Louis couldn't bear any weight on the leg or use crutches with his collarbone, and because his apartment building was over one hundred years old, he was essentially trapped in the living room, and could not even get himself to the bathroom, because of the width of the doorways and the hallway. 

“Would you be okay with that?” Harry asks.

Louis shrugs, resignation obvious. “Well, I don’t think I have a lot of choices here, Harry. Having another person to help would be great, definitely take some of the burden off of you and everyone else. So, it is what it is.”

Harry looks at Louis. “I know, and it’s just a couple more weeks until Mac’ll have you on that knee walker thing for the house, and then you’ll get a lot more independence back. Anyway, you need anything?”

“Nah, I’m good. Your mom brought pizza and there’s a calzone for you in the kitchen.”

“Oooh,” Harry smiled. “Cool. I’m just going to rest here a moment.”

As he slips into a light sleep, he hears Louis sigh and say, “You’re working too hard, baby.”

It’s just over a week later, and Harry is having a bad day. He's been sleeping on the couch since Louis was released from the hospital, terrified of jostling him in his sleep and exacerbating his injuries, but it's not the most comfortable of resting places. Harry’s back hurts and he's so tired he could cry. He feels ragged from working full-time, going to school full-time, and, oh yes, taking care of his grumpy and broken boyfriend while he recovers, who is clearly getting closer and closer to the edge. It had not been a great day at school, and he’d suffered a tragic souffle mishap that he is still smarting about. 

As he enters the apartment, he’s surprised to find the living room is dark. It’s Niall’s day to be with Louis, but before he can call out to find out what’s going on, he hears a groan from the back of the apartment. Concerned now, he drops his things in a haphazard pile on the floor, tossing his coat after them as he hurries down the hall. Is everything okay? Worried that Louis is unwell, he moves a bit faster, but when he gets to the doorway, he stops dead.

The overhead lights are off, so Louis, lying on the bed, is lit only by the glow of the bedside lamp. He’s sprawled across the duvet, his broken leg still encased in its brace. He’s lying on his back, and as he groans again, it hits Harry. Louis is not unwell. Not at all, as far as Harry can tell. In fact, he’s naked, and. Oh god, he’s hard. 

“You’re…um.” Throat gone dry, he coughs, and Louis' eyes glitter in amusement. “You’re not wearing your sling.”

“Don’t need it,” Louis says, running a hand lazily down his body to wrap around his cock, thumb rubbing slowly over the damp tip. 

“You should, um, you should be…” Harry has forgotten how to talk. Words have lost all meaning as he takes in the sheen of Louis' skin, the hard planes of his chest and hips, the long line of his achingly hard cock resting against his iliac crest. 

He tries again. “Louis, what...what’s going on here.”

Louis doesn’t even look at him, the fucking  _ bastard,  _ just slides that same hand, his uninjured side, Harry notes absently as he stares, up to toy with his nipples. “Harry, if you can’t figure that out, you’re not as smart as I thought you were.”

“No, I.” Jesus, words. Words are things that once meant something to Harry but all he can do now is look at Louis, lying on the bed, flush rising prettily up his throat and he wants. He aches. He moves into the room, watching the way Louis tracks him closing the gap between himself and the bed.

The thing is, there hasn’t been a sexually intimate moment between them since the time, the one and only time, Harry’s mind helpfully reminds him, that they’d made love, right before everything fell apart. It’s not that Harry has expected anything. He’s not a  _ giant asshole _ for one thing, expecting his seriously injured boyfriend to get him off. He’s not even had a whole lot of interest, to be honest, given the strain of everything that’s been going on. All this to say, it’s been several weeks since Harry’s seen any action, as his suddenly extremely-interested dick reminds him at the sight of Louis' body stretched out before him.

“So, you’re...feeling good?” Harry asks, not paying much attention to the words he’s speaking, mind almost empty except for the vision of Louis in front of him.

“Could feel better,” Louis says lazily. Harry’s eyes track the movement of his hand on his body.

“Oh. Uh, how?” Harry is pretty sure he sounds like a dazed idiot, but that is how he’s feeling. Sue him, the sight of Louis on the bed, naked and hard, it’s a lot. It’s potent. 

Louis' gazes shifts, eyes snapping to focus on Harry.

“You could get over here and help.”

Harry moves. Bad day, aching back, collapsed souffle, all are forgotten, left behind in the doorway as he approaches the bed.

He sits, careful not to jostle Louis, and replaces that wandering hand with his own. He’s cautious and gentle, chasing the trail of his fingers with his lips as he braces himself over Louis, leaving a line of soft kisses over his torso. He’s afraid, is the thing. Louis' leg is still immobilized and the surgical scars from his chest tube stand out in stark relief against his winter-pale skin, though the bruises have faded. 

Emotion floods his heart and his eyes fill as he realizes how close he had come to losing this, how  _ truly _ close it was. He closes his eyes, focusing on the feel of Louis beneath his hand as he struggles to regain control.

“Harry,” Louis' voice is soft, “Harry, hey. What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just…” Harry takes a deep breath, “It just hit me a bit, you know? That was too close, Lou. Too close.”

Louis lays his hand on top of Harry’s where it rests on his hip. “I know. But it’s okay, Harry. I’m here, I’m healing, I’m going to be okay. It’s going to take more than a stupid MBTA bus to break me, Harry.”

Their fingers curl together, and then Louis grins, and it’s the first time Harry’s seen this smile, this devilish, impish smile, since Louis was hurt. 

“And now, Styles,” Louis lifts Harry’s hand from his hip, and tugs it over and  _ down.  _

Harry takes a deep breath, lets the fear and sadness slip away, to be replaced with something else entirely. He wraps his hand around Louis' cock, still so mouth-wateringly hard. “I got you, baby,” he murmurs. He reaches with his other hand to open the bedside table drawer, pulls out the lube he knows Louis keeps there, he’s always been a creature of habit.

“I’ll take care of you.”

He can feel his own cock really starting to pay attention to the proceedings at hand and sends it a mental message:  _ later.  _ This is not about him right now.

He watches Louis sink back against the bed, shuddering a bit at the sound of Harry opening the bottle, then squeezes a generous dollop of lube into his hand, sets the bottle aside.

“You ready, baby?” He asks as he reaches out. He slides down the bed a bit and grasps Louis' cock, running his slick hand gently over the hard length of him as Louis' eyes seem to roll back in his head.

“Fuck, I...” Louis gasps out a breathy moan, “Been ready a while, baby. Been waiting for you to get home.”

Harry leans over and says, “Gonna have to stay still, love, that collar bone is still healing,” as he teases his hand over Louis, grinning at the way his cock jumps slightly under his touch. He fastens his mouth to one nipple and Louis gives a strangled cry. Harry can feel his body tense up, trying not to arch against the sensation as Harry sucks, swirling his tongue around the nub as it tightens up.

“God, Harry. C’mon, touch me.”

Harry gives one last flick of his tongue, hand still ghosting over Louis' cock. “I am touching you, sweetheart.”

“Harder, c’mon, I’m not gonna break, Harry. Come the fuck on…” Louis' voice trails off in a groan that has Harry positively salivating as he tightens his grasp, and gets to work. He moves his hand slowly at first, then gaining speed as Louis falls apart under his touch.

“How do you want it?” His voice is low, barely audible over the noise Louis is making. 

“Just,” Louis voice breaks as he moans again, “You know what I like, baby, nothing’s changed, just...Please.”

Harry moves his arm faster and faster, swipes his thumb over the firm, soft flesh of the tip, and there it is, the familiar hitch in Louis' breathing, even after all this time, that lets him know he's close. He leans over, and sucks Louis' cock all the way in deep and it’s all over, with a shout, Louis is coming down his throat.

The only sounds in the room for a moment are Louis' labored breathing and Harry’s admittedly overly-proud hum of satisfaction.

And then, “Jesus fucking Christ,” Louis wheezes, “I’m so out of shape. I think you’ve killed me, Styles.” 

Harry rolls onto his back next to Louis and grins. “Haven’t lost my touch, have I?” he says smugly.

Louis whacks him with a floppy arm which he then lets drop back onto the bed with a thud. “Fuck, give me a second.”

Harry shrugs, “I’m not really in a rush right now. I just have to ask, Louis, how did this, er, come about exactly?” He smiles at Louis' snigger and adds, “I thought Niall was supposed to be with you today?”

Louis sighs, winds his fingers through Harry’s where his hand is lying next to him on the bed. “It just...fuck, it just hit me that I haven’t been alone since the accident. I love Niall, you know that, and he knows that before you say anything, I can see that frowny face, Harry. But I haven’t had one fucking moment to myself since the accident, and I am just so sick of it. Niall and I talked about it. So he helped me get set up in the bedroom and took off.”

Harry feels a flare of jealousy. “Did he help you get undressed.”

“Yup,” Louis says unapologetically. “You know I can’t do it by myself yet.”

“Wait, did you tell him what you were...planning?”

Harry glances over next to him to catch Louis rolling his eyes with fond exasperation. “Yeah, pretty much.” He shrugs a bit and winces. “Fuck. Yes, Harry. After I told him I was tired of having people around all the fucking time, the conversation went from there.”

Harry feels a small flare of hurt. “Should I have waited to come home? You could have texted me or something.”

Louis stares at him in confusion. “I don’t mean you, you idiot. You don’t count as people.”

Harry has to laugh a bit at that. “Not people? What the hell does that even mean? Pretty sure a ghost couldn’t jack you off like that.”

Immobilized as he is, Louis can’t turn on his side to snuggle into Harry, and contents himself with holding Harry’s hand a bit more tightly, pulling it up to his lips for a kiss. “You’re not people, Harry. You’re my person.”

Harry feels tears prickle at the backs of his eyes and wonders when he’ll stop having this response to anything the least bit emotional. “You too, Louis. You’re my person too.”

They smile at each other for a long moment, and then Louis' gaze turns dark, almost predatory. “It’s just occurring to me that I’m being a bit rude.” He smirks. “Here you just gave me a spectacular orgasm,” Harry murmurs his appreciation for the compliment, which Louis acknowledges with a majestic nod, “and I haven’t returned the favor.”

Harry quirks a skeptical eyebrow at him. “Louis, you’ve barely got one working hand, your leg’s in a cast, you have to be careful about that fucking collar bone. I’m pretty sure you’re in no shape to get me off.” 

Louis frowns at that. “Honestly, Harold, if I can’t get you off with a broken leg and one hand, I will abdicate my 2012 Handjob Master of UC Berkeley title.” Harry gives a shout of laughter and Louis grins in response. “C’mon, get naked, I want to jerk you off.”

Harry feels a shiver of anticipation, and his cock, which has flagged a bit during their bantering conversation starts to perk up. He stands, strips himself out of his clothes, tossing them into the laundry hamper, and lies back down on the bed next to Louis. It takes them a minute or two to figure out a position that works with Louis' mobility limitations, and finally they’re lying side by side, flat on their backs, with Louis reaching out to grasp Harry’s cock.

He waves his hand imperiously. “Lube me up, baby,” and Harry squirts a liberal blob from the bottle onto his hand.

As Louis clenches his hand to coat it, he says conversationally, “How was lab tonight?”

Harry sinks back into the soft pillows. “Kinda sucked, my souffle collapsed and Nick said it wasn’t a big deal, but nobody else’s did and I got grumpy.” 

He sucks in a gasp as Louis' hand descends, closing over the hot skin of his hard cock.

“What kind of souffle?”

“Um, chocolate, we’re doing on our...oh fuck, baby, that’s so good,” Harry arches up into Louis' touch as Louis' hand speeds up. Because of how they are positioned, it’s a different angle from the usual, and it  _ feels _ different. It feels new. Exciting.

Louis' voice sounds strained too, as he asks, “Chocolate, huh, gonna be bringing anything home?” Harry opens his eyes to glance down and yeah, Louis' getting interested again. He’d always gotten off on getting Harry off, and it looks like that hasn’t changed. He also wonders when they both started calling Louis' apartment home, and files that away to ponder over later.

Barely coherent now, Harry can’t think as he closes his eyes to focus on the pleasure Louis' bringing him, the way his hand tightens and loosens around Harry’s cock, so hard now he thinks he could probably cut glass with it.

“Yeah, I could...oh shit, Lou, that’s so...I think we’re doing brownies on Thursday, I could...oh god, baby, I’m gonna come.  _ I’m gonna come.”  _

Harry cries out at the intensity of the feeling, as Louis urges him on, “Do it, baby, c’mon, I want to see you come, please, Harry, come for me,” and they both moan as Harry comes, release spurting over Louis' hand onto his own belly.

Harry collapses limply back onto the bed and sees Louis shaking the kinks out of his arm. He snickers and Louis just grins. “Fuck off, I’m out of shape, I told you. Anyway,” he smirks and parrots Harry’s words back to him, “Haven’t lost my touch now, have I?”

Harry rolls onto his side, heedless of the mess on his stomach and trails his hands over Louis' chest. “Looks maybe like you wanted to go again?”

Louis looks down, almost as if surprised at the sight of his half-hard dick, and gives Harry an appraising look. “Could probably be...persuaded.”

Harry snuggles in closer. “You really are feeling better, aren’t you?”

He slides down the bed, nudges Louis' unbroken leg up to a bent position so that he can maneuver his way up between his thighs. 

“Yeah,” Louis sounds a bit breathless, “Mac said it would happen, she said that at a month or so, I’d turn the corner, start to feel better, stronger.” He traces his hand down his own side and drags it over Harry’s head, running his fingers through his curls, heedless of the mess, “and I’d say the last couple of days, it’s definitely been better. I didn’t even take the pain meds today.”

Harry pushes Louis' leg wide and mouths his way along the inside of Louis' thigh, mindful of the brace on his other leg. He can’t help but stop and look at Louis, and how he just sort of  _ shines _ in the light of the bedside lamp. He still looks tired, too thin from the accident, but his eyes are clear and bright as he smiles back at Harry, who’s pretty sure he’s looking like a besotted fool as he grins back up at him.

“So,” Louis says, trying to sound casual but his breathless tone gives him away, “What, exactly, are you doing down there, Harry?” 

“Oh,” Harry brings his face down again, noses at the crease between Louis' leg and his hip, takes a deep breath, catching the scent of sex and shower gel on Louis' skin, “You know,” he lands a nip on Louis' hipbone, “A little of this,” he trails his tongue down to Louis' balls, “A little of that.”

“Fuck,” Louis whispers, spreads his leg even wider, tilts his hips up a bit to give Harry more access, “Fuck, Harry.”

“Not yet,” Harry whispers, blowing the words out softly so that Louis just quivers, “Don’t think your leg is up for that, baby.” And with that, he sets to work, gently moving Louis' balls out of his way so he can lave his tongue over the tender skin beneath. Louis' cock jumps, filling under his hand, and he presses down firmly on it as Louis hisses out between his teeth.

“Oh my god, Harry.” 

Harry licks and swirls his tongue around the opening to Louis' body, sucks and gasps at the taste on his tongue. The angle isn't quite right to really eat him out properly, but still, Harry thinks, being this close to Louis Tomlinson’s ass is never not going to be one of his favorite places to be. Louis is fighting hard to hold himself still, fingers still wound through Harry’s hair, holding him in place. He’s moaning, giving himself over to the pleasure as Harry thrusts his tongue against him, the bent leg next to Harry shaking as he groans loudly.

“Shit, shit, Harry, oh my god, that feels so fucking good.” 

Harry licks at his balls, sucks one into his mouth as Louis shouts, “Fuck, oh fuck, Harry.”

Grasping Louis' cock firmly, Harry runs his thumb along the underside as he presses a kiss to the soft, spongy tip. He runs his tongue over the top and under the ridge of the head and then slowly sucks Louis into his mouth, reveling in the heft and taste on his tongue. He pulls a bit of a face at the taste of Louis' lube and makes another mental note to pick up some of his favorite organic cherry-flavored lube the next time he’s out at Whole Foods, and then sets his mind to the task at hand. Or mouth, really. He snorts at himself.

“What’s going on down there, Styles?”

Louis is laid out on the pillows, his uninjured leg sprawled wide, his hands buried in Harry’s hair, face tilted up to the ceiling. He’s out of breath and moans again as Harry gives another long suck on his cock, swirling his tongue against the hot skin.

He pulls off long enough to say, “Just laughing at myself. Now, it’s time to be quiet.”

Louis is anything but as Harry gives it his all, hand and mouth working in tandem. Since he just came, it takes Louis a bit longer to get there and Harry enjoys every second of it. He manages to get more lube onto his left hand as he sucks Louis off, and when he gets a finger buried knuckle deep into his ass, Louis gives an incoherent shout before stuttering out, “I’m gonna come, oh fuck, Harry, you’re making me come,” and spills over into Harry’s mouth.

*****

Now that Louis has turned the proverbial corner, he’s even more impatient to get back on his feet, and at first, keeping him contained seems to involve an awful lot of hand jobs and blow jobs but Harry’s not complaining. Louis' PT gets him onto a knee scooter, which gets him out of the full leg brace and into a boot. Now he can get himself around the house, at least, and he’s not stuck with babysitters, confined to the couch. He is, however, still limited to the apartment. Until he can be weight-bearing on that collar bone, he can’t use crutches, which means he’s using the wheelchair for everything outside the house. 

But, as time passes, the euphoria dies down and he’s getting grumpier and grumpier, and Harry’s bearing the brunt, feeling more and more exhausted by the competing demands on his time - work, school, and Louis. Even the sex has dropped off over the last week and a half or so as they’ve both seemed to feel more and more depleted.

**MAY 2018**

Harry enters the apartment, wondering which Louis he’s going to find. The Louis that he thought had been returned to him, the mature, thoughtful, appreciative man, or the grumpy Louis who’s been making more and more of an appearance lately. The thing is, Harry gets it, he really does. Louis is a man of movement and action, who chafes at confinement, and the last six weeks have been incredibly hard on him, physically and emotionally. He’s had to be totally reliant on others to help him get dressed, feed himself, even bathe himself and use the bathroom. For a proud and self-reliant man, it hasn’t been easy.

Harry can appreciate how hard Louis' been working to hold it inside, to not take it out of the people around him who’ve bent over backwards to help him. But, because Harry is there the most, he sees the cracks and he can’t help remembering the bad times before, that awful feeling in his gut as he would wait for the storm to break.

He hangs up his coat and kicks his shoes off, making his way into the living room.

Louis is sitting on the couch, surrounded by textbooks. It’s Sunday and Harry was on his usual brunch shift, so it’s about 4:00 in the afternoon, and he doesn’t have to be at work until the following afternoon. He’s almost done with his program. This is finals week, which basically means showing up and baking for hours on end, and he doesn’t have to do that tomorrow.

Harry drops a kiss onto Louis' head and then heads into the bedroom. “How’s your day been, babe?”

Louis snips, “Not sure why you even bother asking at this point, it’s the same as every other day.”

Harry rolls his shoulders and sighs, dropping his bag onto the bedroom floor. “You’ve got PT tomorrow and the appointment with the ortho guy before. They’ll have you on crutches soon, babe.”

He can hear the eyeroll in Louis' voice as he whines, there’s really no other word for it, “I know, but fuck, I want it now. This fucking sucks.”

Harry sits on the bed, his back turned to the door, takes a deep breath. “I know, Lou. We all want you back on your feet.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you can’t wait.” Louis' tone has turned darker, a bit uglier and Harry feels a clutch of fear in his heart.

“Lou, what are you talking about?”

“Just,” Louis says, “I’m sure you’re looking forward to being free. This isn’t fun for you either. You’re probably sick of me, looking forward to going home.”

Harry slumps over to lie facedown on the bed, and suddenly, he’s just exhausted, and can’t find the energy within him to pull out the words that will reassure Louis. He gets it, he really does, he’s witnessed first-hand how hard this is on Louis, but it’s hard on him too. And, he can’t help remembering all the fights they’d had in that last year, with Louis getting meaner and meaner while he went more and more silent. 

“Harry?”

He hears the thump of the knee walker going over the sill of the doorway into the bedroom, and then Louis slides onto the edge of the bed.

“What, you’re not going to answer me?” Louis' tone is still disagreeable.

Harry rolls onto his back, wincing at the ache in his lumbar. He’d better do some yoga soon, stretch that out, or he is going to have a problem.

“What do you want me to say, Lou?” His voice is dull as he stares at the ceiling. 

“The truth, Harry, I just want you to tell me the truth.”

“What truth do you think I’m hiding from you?” Harry can hear the frustration at the edge of his words. 

“I have no idea!” Louis matches Harry’s tone. “You always do this, you never talk to me. You just fucking shut down. How do I fucking know what’s going on inside of you?”

Harry closes his eyes, heart rate accelerating. “I don’t know what you want from me right now.”

Louis' voice is flat as he says, “Maybe you should just go home, Harry.”

Harry’s eyes fly open as he sits bolt upright. “I thought I was home, Lou.”

As Louis just looks at him, Harry breaks. “You know what? Fuck you, Louis. I get it. I get that this is hell on you, that it’s been a nightmare. I get that you’ve had to work so hard just to be able to piss on your own. You’ve had to deal with the pain, get your schoolwork done, have no privacy for weeks. And I get that it fucking sucks to have to rely on other people to take care of you. But you’re not the only one it’s been hard on. I’m working, I’m in school too, I’m the one organizing all the help, taking care of you.”

“Well, if it’s such a burden, don’t do it!” Louis yells and then looks shocked, as if he hadn’t meant to say those words.

Suddenly Harry gets it. This is the same fight they’ve had before, only the words are different. And he has a choice here, doesn’t he? He can do the same thing he’s always done. He can let Louis push him away, he can retreat to his own apartment, he can withdraw and hide.

Or. Or he can do it differently. He can be brave, push back, trust that their commitment  _ to _ each other can withstand their irritation  _ with _ each other. Underneath the anger in Louis' eyes, he can see something else. Fear maybe, or vulnerability. 

“You said you wanted me to fight back, so this is me fighting back.” Harry sits up and glares at Louis. “Yeah, it’s a lot of work right now, yeah, it’s a pain in the ass, and God, if I could take away everything you’ve suffered, I would, in a heartbeat. But, don’t put words in my mouth, Louis. it’s not a burden, you asshole, you’re not a fucking  _ burden.” _

Louis closes his eyes and Harry sees one tear slip out and trace down his cheek and the anger inside him melts as he stares at him. “Louis, what is this? What’s going on?”

And then Louis says something that makes Harry’s blood run cold. “What?” He whispers, “What did you say?”

“I said,” Louis' voice is louder but he doesn’t open his eyes, can’t look Harry in the eyes, “I want a drink. I really want a fucking drink.”

Oh shit. Harry takes a deep breath. Feels the panic rise. He doesn’t know what to do, how to handle this.

“Is that why you’ve been so…” his voice trails off as he tries to find a diplomatic way to put it.

“Such a fucking twat?” Louis' voice is laced with wry amusement. “Yeah, I’d say so.” 

He finally opens his eyes and Harry can’t help himself, he shifts forward and carefully wraps his arms around Louis. Louis sighs and leans into Harry’s embrace, laying his head on Harry’s shoulder.

“When did this start?” Harry finally asks, scared of saying the wrong thing.

Louis shrugs, and pulls away from Harry, slumping forward to lean his head on his hands. “Well, it amped up considerably about ten minutes after I woke up from surgery, but, to be honest, it’s been building for a while.” He pauses, still not looking at Harry. “Since before the accident.”

“Lou,” Harry’s voice trails off, he’s not sure how to continue.

“No, Harry. I know you know. Liam told me. But I want to tell you. Let me say the words, okay?”

Harry nods, not able to look away from Louis’ slumped posture, his defeated shoulders. “So, the day that things blew up, when I left you, it just.” He shakes his head a bit, still pressed into his hands. “Leaving you there, that’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It tore me to pieces, Harry, but I just didn’t know what else to do. Maybe now I understand a bit better how you felt, leaving me.”

Harry rests a hand in between Louis’s shoulder blades, trying to convey with touch the words he can’t say.  _ I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. I’m with you. We can get through this. _

“I left your place, and I had planned to go right home. Instead, I walked into the liquor store and I bought a bottle of whiskey.”

Harry presses harder.  _ I’m still here. Right here, next to you. _

Louis’ voice cracks as he says, “I didn’t drink it, Harry. You don’t have to believe me, but I swear to you on everything I hold dear, I didn’t take a drop.”

“I believe you.” Harry’s voice is soft in the space between them, and he hears Louis gasp in relief. 

“Okay. Thank you. I don’t deserve it, but thank you.”

“You do,” Harry says more strongly now, “You do deserve it, Lou. I believe you. I believe  _ in _ you. I know you didn’t drink.” He takes a deep breath. “So, can you tell me, like, what’s going on inside now?”

Louis’ voice is a bit muffled. “I’m just tired. I’m tired of hurting. I’m tired feeling so helpless. I’m tired of feeling trapped in this apartment, trapped in my head. Tired of...feeling, I guess.” 

He inhales evenly and then lets his breath out slowly, and Harry can almost see him counting down from five to zero in his mind. “And, I mean, it doesn't make sense, right? Like we’re so fucking close. Hopefully tomorrow they’ll tell me I can be weight-bearing and start with the crutches. And even if they don’t, it’ll just be like another week.”

Harry rubs small circles into his back, searching for the words.

“Maybe it doesn’t have to make sense,” he finally ventures. “Maybe it doesn’t matter all that much why. This has been  _ so _ hard, and it’s a marathon, not a sprint, right? Even once you’re on crutches, it’s still going to be a while before you’re back on your feet. And maybe it’s that now you’re feeling a bit better, you have more time to...I don’t know, think about it? Brood?”

Louis lifts his head, finally, and stares at Harry. “You really think so?”

Harry shrugs. “I mean, yeah.”

Louis sighs, long and deep, leaning into Harry’s touch as Harry asks, “So, what do you need to do?”

Louis thinks for a bit. “Call Liam. Go to a meeting. Not be alone.” He swallows and looks at Harry. “I’m sorry I told you to leave. Sorry I’ve been a dick. I know you have your own apartment that you haven't even stayed at in weeks. I’ll get it if you want to go, but it would…” He takes another deep breath. “It would mean a lot to me if you would stay.” He presses his lips together, looks down at his lap. 

Harry hugs him gently, mindful of the sling. “I wasn’t going anywhere, baby,” he says softly and feels Louis' body relax a bit as he exhales. “I didn’t want to do the same thing I always do, you know?”

Louis nods. “I, uh. Yeah, I noticed that. Sorry to make it all about me again. I really didn’t want to scare you.” 

Harry rolls his eyes. “Louis, baby. C’mon. Yeah, it scares me, but...I don’t know. Last time, we didn’t talk about it, we just hid it from each other. And that didn’t work so well.” Louis snorts at the understatement. “I need you to tell me. It was feeling too much like it did before, and now. Now I feel like we’re seeing each other clearly again.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Louis asks, bringing his arm up around Harry’s shoulders to run a hand through his hair. 

“I guess I was avoiding it a bit too,” Harry says ruefully. “I thought it would be like before, and I’m just.” He sighs a bit. “I’m really tired, baby.” Louis' grip tightens for a second. “No, it’s not your fault, Lou, none of this is your fault. It just...it sucks, all of it.”

They sit in silence for a moment and then Louis turns Harry’s question back on him. “So, what do you need to do? To feel okay? Or, you know, at least a bit better?”

Harry shrugs but Louis doesn’t let him off the hook. “No, for real, Harry. What do you need?” All of a sudden, Harry wonders if it feels good for Louis to be able to take care of him for once.

“Maybe if you go to a meeting, I’ll go hang out with Niall for a bit? Even though we see each other at work, I don’t know, I’m kind of missing him too.”

So Louis calls Liam and fills him in, and they make plans to get to the 6:00 meeting in Harvard Square and then go for dinner afterwards. Harry texts Niall who just sends back a thumbs-up and a simple, “I’ll be here,” which makes Harry’s eyes well.

They’re gathering their things to go when Louis pauses. “Harry?”

Harry looks up at the soft tone of his voice. “Yeah?”

“Come home after?”

Harry smiles, crosses the room to kiss Louis gently. “Yeah. I’ll come home after.”

*****

Harry sits with Niall at their table in a kitchen that no longer feels entirely like home. Niall pulls a pizza out of the oven and sets it on the cutting board. As they eat, he says carefully, “I’ve missed your ugly mug, Styles.”

Harry hears the truth in the joke and just nods. “Same, Nialler, same.” It’s not that he hasn’t been back to the apartment, he has, here and there, but it’s only recently that Louis could be alone at all. He knows Niall knows this, better than almost anyone as he’s been one of the main people helping Louis out. 

“So,” Niall says finally, “What brings you back here tonight? I can see that look, Harry. Something’s up.”

Harry peers into his beer for a moment, and reminds himself to brush his teeth before he sees Louis.

“We had kind of a fight? I guess.”

“You don’t know?” Niall takes a bite of pizza.

“Just, Louis was being a dick but he had...reasons.” Harry is not sure how much he should share, how much he’s allowed to share, but Niall just nods, understanding what Harry’s not saying.

“I’ve wondered if that was going to come up.”

“Yeah, well, he knows how to take care of himself with this, so he’s doing that. Like, it started off feeling like the bad times, but then it changed, it felt different.”

Niall looks interested. “What changed?”

Harry shrugs, sips his beer. “I guess, I just tried to react differently, you know? Instead of clamming up and walking away, I got mad, yelled back at him, and that’s when he told me...”

“Well, it’s been hard on both of you,” Niall says, and Harry looks at the kindness shining from his open face and blue eyes, and just grins.

“Yeah,” he says simply, “It has. But, hopefully he’ll get good news tomorrow from the ortho guy, and then when he can get out of the house on his own, that’ll make it so much easier.”

“Yeah,” Niall says, “and you won’t have to keep staying there, you can move back home if you want to.”   
  
Harry freezes, because, oh. He hadn’t thought about it like that, but Niall’s right. Once Louis is steady on the crutches, he’s not going to need Harry there in the same capacity. Truth be told, he probably hasn’t really needed Harry there for at least the last week, now that he’s perfected his skill at zooming about the apartment on his knee walker. 

“Unless,” Niall looks more closely at Harry, “Are you thinking about staying? Moving in?”

Harry stares at Niall, eyes wide. 

“Jesus, Harry, breathe!” Niall says. 

“Um, I don’t know,” Harry says finally. “He told me to come home tonight, Ni, but I don’t know what he means. And besides,” he strives for joking but has a feeling Niall can see right through him, “I can’t leave you.”

Niall frowns at that. “Harry, if you do or don’t want to live with Louis, that’s a decision that you need to make, it’s not about me. I love living with you, but if you want to live with Louis, you’ll have my blessing for that, if it’s really what you want.”

Harry’s not sure which is panicking him more, the thought of not living with Louis, or the thought of moving in with him. “I don’t know what I want, I guess,” he says finally and Niall just smiles.

“When it’s clear, you’ll know.”

They move on to lighter topics, and Harry feels more like himself than he has in weeks as he prepares to head back over to Louis'. He embraces Niall before he leaves, holding on tight.

“Thanks, Nialler,” he says finally, “I feel more...I don’t know, grounded.”

“Don’t let it go so long, Styles,” Niall says firmly. “You need support too, okay?”

Harry nods, and tromps down the stairs back over to Louis' place. He gets there before Louis, and decides to take a quick shower. It’s still fairly early, and he doesn’t have to work tomorrow until late, and he wonders whether he can talk Louis into watching a movie or something. 

He’s in the bedroom, with his hair bundled up in one towel, another loosely wrapped around his hips as he rummages in his drawer for some comfortable clothing to throw on. He hears the door open and Louis calling goodbye to Liam as he gets himself onto his knee walker and moves into the apartment.

“In here,” Harry calls, still trying to find his favorite sweatshirt that he knows went through the wash here. He bets to himself that Louis stole it, the bastard, though he can’t even get a hoodie on and off right now. “Hey, how was your evening…”

His voice trails off at the strangled moan that comes from Louis as he enters the bedroom. He turns in alarm, wondering if Louis is okay, but when he sees the look on his face as Louis stares at his bare chest, actually open-mouthed, Harry gives a small, smug grin.

“Hey, Lou,” he says, carefully taking the towel off his head, giving his hair a quick rub and tossing the towel over the footboard of the bed.

“Hey,” Louis whispers, still staring. 

Their eyes locked, Harry takes a step towards Louis, and then, without breaking eye contact, lets the towel wrapped around his waist drop to the floor. Louis doesn’t seem to be breathing now and Harry moves closer.

“Everything okay there?”

Louis' eyes scan Harry’s naked body helplessly. “It’s...yeah...you’re…” Louis waves a hand in Harry’s general direction, seemingly mesmerized, and Harry laughs.

“See something you like, Tomlinson?”

Louis nods a bit frantically and Harry can see his throat work as he swallows. “Jesus, Harry. Can we…”

Harry drapes himself over the bed, watches Louis close his eyes briefly, as if overcome by the sight. “Can we what, baby?” He runs his hand teasingly down his chest, traces the happy trail down to his groin, carefully takes himself in hand as his cock starts to take an interest in the proceedings. 

“Fuck…” Louis breathes, and Harry smirks again.

“Yes.”

Louis drags his eyes up from where he’s been staring shamelessly at Harry’s dick, and looks puzzled. “What?”

“Yes, we can fuck.”

Louis gives an almost-inaudible moan. “Are you sure?”

Harry gives his cock a couple of long, leisurely strokes. “Do I look at all unsure to you?”

“Um,” Louis gulps, “No. No, you do not.”

“How do you want to do this?” Harry asks as Louis approaches the bed, eyes a bit glazed over as Harry lets his legs fall open.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Louis breathes, pressing a hand to the bulge he’s now sporting in his loose track pants. “Fuck me, Harry. Please, can you fuck me?”

He pulls his t-shirt off and Harry’s mouth goes dry at the sight of his chest, still a bit too thin, but Louis Tomlinson will never not be beautiful to Harry. Louis transfers himself to the bed, and lays back as Harry helps him to shimmy out of his pants and briefs. He turns to look at Harry.

“How do you want me?”

Harry stares at him and answers honestly, “Any way I can have you.”

Louis rolls his eyes and smiles in exasperated affection. “How do you want to fuck me, Styles, c’mon, get with the program here.”

Mindful of Louis' still healing collar bone, praying it’s healed enough for what he’s about to do to Louis, Harry shifts and says, “Just stay there, baby. I think if you’re on your back and I’m careful with that leg, we should be okay.”

A frankly filthy grin spreads across Louis' face and he says, “Oh darling, I think it’ll be better than just okay.”

He carefully settles himself on the pillows and then mutters, “Shit, I was gonna take care of you tonight, not have you take care of me again.” He sounds frustrated and Harry pauses.

“Louis,” the sincerity is clear in his voice, “There is nowhere else in the world I’d rather be right now, than right here, and there’s nothing I’d rather be doing than making love to you,” Louis' eyes widen at the words that they’ve been careful not to say, “And believe me, this  _ is _ taking care of me, baby.” 

He slides down and without further ado, licks a line from the base of Louis' cock up to the tip, and then takes him into his mouth. He’s not fully hard yet, and Harry revels in the feeling of taking him all the way in, in the way Louis fills his mouth with his taste and scent, in the texture of the soft skin under his tongue. He pulls off for a moment, just to look at Louis, lying spread out on the bed, all for him.

They haven’t really had energy or desire of late simply to savor one another, and Harry is determined to take his time with Louis tonight, wants to see him come to the edge again and again before finally falling over. He wants to take Louis apart in the best possible way, take himself apart too, until they can join each other and put themselves back together, stronger and more whole.

“Yes, fuck, yes,” Louis moans and Harry realizes that he’s saying these words aloud, as Louis groans in agreement, “Jesus, Harry, c’mon.”

And it hits Harry that this is the first time for Louis since they’d split, long before even. As their relationship had entered its death spiral, their sex life had too, and Louis hasn’t been with anyone since, not like this. 

“Are you sure, baby? Are you sure you want me in you?”

Louis lifts his head from where it’s been lolling on the pillows to stare at him. “What’s going on in that head of yours, sweetheart,” and he again tosses Harry’s words back at him. “Do I look unsure to you?”

“No, it’s just…” Harry flushes, “I know it’s been a long time for you this way.” 

Louis just smiles, sudden and pure. “I’m sure, baby, so so sure. Please, c’mon, I want you in me.”

Harry takes his time, lavishes attention to Louis' hip and thighs, sucks him down and has him crying out again and again as he works him open. It takes him a bit to remember Louis' body, and for a moment he’s sad that he’s forgotten so much but then he manages to crook his fingers and Louis gives a high-pitched cry that’s very close to scream.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, that’s it, oh my god, stop Harry, you have to stop, I’m so close.”

Harry pulls his fingers out and gives Louis a moment to regain his composure. “I think you’re ready, baby, do you feel ready?”

“Oh god,” Louis pulls his arm back from where he’s flung it over his eyes, “I’m so fucking ready, Harry, I’ve been ready for years, c’mon.”

As Harry goes to put on the condom, Louis stills his arm with a gentle hand. “Harry, can we...not?”

Harry freezes, whispers, “You want me to go in bare?”

Louis nods, holding his gaze. “I’m clean, you said you’ve been tested, and Jesus, Harry, it’s been so long, I want to feel you all the way, please? We don’t have to, if you don’t want to, but I do, Harry. I want to.”

Overwhelmed, Harry presses a hand to his cock to keep from coming at the thought of it. “Yeah, okay, baby. I mean, I might not be able to last too long.”

Louis shakes his head, eyes suspiciously bright, “I don’t even care, I just want you.”

Harry takes a deep breath, grabs the lube and slicks up his cock, willing it to behave. He doesn’t realize he’s said this aloud until Louis snorts.

“Did you just...tell your dick to be good?” He asks with a raised eyebrow.

Harry shrugs, lines himself up between Louis' legs, “Sometimes we all need a little reminder.” He pushes forward a bit as Louis takes a deep breath. “Okay, baby?”

Louis nods, frowning in concentration, and Harry slowly works his way into Louis' body, shuddering at the tight heat enveloping, gasping as memory morphs into present reality as they move together, reminding themselves of who and what they are to each other.

Harry has no idea how long they’ve been fused together like this, it could be moments, it could be an eternity, and he loses himself in the joy and connection he’s feeling. Louis is moving beneath him, mindful of his leg still in the boot, his unbroken leg bent to help him gain leverage as Harry thrusts into him, first gently, and then faster and faster still.

Harry realizes there’s a litany of praise coming from his lips as he moves, “Fuck, Louis, you’re so fucking beautiful, so good, look at you, baby, fuck, I’ve missed you so much, missed this so fucking much,” He feels like he’s about to be split apart by the feelings rising in him as he moves. Louis is in not much better of a state, head tilted back as he’s carried along the wave of Harry’s movement, crying out again and again.

Harry feels that overwhelming sensation rising from somewhere deep inside him. “God, Louis, I’m so close, baby, I’m so close.” He stills, panting, trying to rein in his body, “Louis, fuck, are you close, baby?”

Louis moans, shifting his hips to pull Harry deeper inside of him. He’s breathless and sweaty, hair a tangled mess as he opens his eyes to stare at Harry, “God, Harry, please, just….” He moans again and Harry wraps a hand around his cock, gives one strong stroke upwards and it’s game over, Louis coming so hard, he collapses onto the pillow. 

After a moment, he opens his eyes, again, looking blearily up at Harry. “C’mon,” he whispers, voice hoarse, “C’mon Harry, fucking finish, I want you to come in me, baby, come so hard I can taste you,” and Jesus Christ, his mouth when he gets going.

Harry groans, long and low, and sets to moving again, his hips pistoning faster and faster as Louis clutches him close, murmuring encouragement in his ear until he stiffens as his orgasm breaks over him like a tidal wave, dragging him under as he collapses onto Louis' sweaty, sticky body with a groan, shuddering with the aftershocks. 

He comes back to the sound of Louis whispering in his ear, his voice almost broken and hoarse, whispering, “I love you, Harry, I love you so fucking much, baby, fuck, I love you.”

Harry takes a deep breath, presses up onto his forearms to look at Louis, and feels a smile stretching his face even as tears fill his eyes. 

“Oh Louis,” he whispers back, “Oh my Lou. I love you too.”

**DECEMBER 2018**

Harry looks around at the sea of boxes spread throughout the apartment and feels his heart swell. It’s been six months since the accident and its aftermath. Six months of rehab and PT, Louis slowly getting stronger and stronger. Harry had moved back to his apartment with Niall, but he and Louis had continued to spend most of their nights together, and recently Niall had made a proposition.

“How about, Louis and I swap? I’ll move into his one bedroom and he moves in here?” All the relevant landlords had been fine with it, and they’d managed to make it happen this week, as Louis' semester had finished the week before.

Louis had gone back to work in June, splitting his time between interning at a law firm downtown and bartending at Mary’s. He still walks with a bit of a limp when he’s tired, although Mac has insisted that if he wanted to, he could run the Boston Marathon, to which Louis had just stared at her, clearly baffled and had said, “Why the fuck would I want to do that?”

Their relationship isn’t perfect, but Harry’s finally begun truly to understand that no relationship is, and has learned to embrace what Louis calls the imperfectly perfect. They’ve hit a few more landmines here and there, and survived them, making their way through the pain together, and Harry knows they’re more solid than they’ve ever been. 

Harry is looking forward to a quiet night, with some unpacking, a movie, and hopefully some sex. He calls out as he makes his way through the cluttered living room.

“Louis, baby? Where are you?”

He hears the rear door of the apartment open and Louis calls out, “Harry, you’re home! Don’t take your coat off yet, can you come out here?”

A bit confused, Harry makes his way out into the back hallway and sees Louis standing in the doorway to their porch. They have a small balcony running the width of the building, overlooking the urban sprawl around them. Harry has a grill tucked into one corner, and a small table, but that’s it. He grins, seeing that Louis has set up his double hammock chair from his back porch. It’ll be a great place to lounge on spring and summer afternoons and all of a sudden, Harry can’t wait. He’s not sure why Louis is still looking nervous, and steps closer to give him a kiss.

“Looks great, babe, it fits perfectly. I can’t wait for it to get warmer.”

Louis takes an audible breath, and then says, “Look up, darling.”

Harry looks up and his breath catches. There, strung from the rafters, is the windchime. As he stares at it, a breeze stirs, and the soft chimes ring through the air. His eyes fill, and he feels something deep within him let go, feels the past retreating into the distance until all he can see in this moment, right here and now, are the green and blue beads glinting in the afternoon winter sun, and Louis' azure eyes shot with gold, as full as his own, filled with hope and promises. 

Kintsugi, he reminds himself. Shattered pieces mended with something so precious. Creating something beautiful. Making the broken whole. 

He contemplates the windchime a moment longer, then turns to look at Louis and smiles, pulling him to press a kiss to his temple.

“It’s perfect,” he whispers, “That’s exactly where it belongs.” 

Just like him. Just like Louis. They are exactly where they belong.

Home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of these characters, and ask that you do not reprint or post this work anywhere. Please respect the fourth wall; this is a work of fiction and should stay very very far away from anyone connected to any of the people mentioned.
> 
> As always, the words are mine, as are the errors. 
> 
> Feel free to come say come say hi on Tumblr! If you enjoyed this, the rest of my writing can be found here!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! If you feel so inspired, feel free to leave a kudos or a comment, they all make my day brighter!
> 
> Even better, if you feel moved to do so, here's the [rebloggable post on Tumblr](http://phd-mama.tumblr.com/post/158513038308/feels-like-coming-home)! Again, thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this story.


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